


Of The World

by Unstoppablei



Series: The End of the World as We Know It [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angels are Dicks, Angst, Canon with a twist, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel In Love, Castiel: still trying to understand human emotions, Dean's Terrible Life, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of guns, Martyr complexes all around, Non-Explicit Sex, One Big Angry Family, Parental Bobby Singer, Romance, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, alternate season 5, secrets and lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4542639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unstoppablei/pseuds/Unstoppablei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cage is open, and the Apocalypse is nigh. Lucifer has half of his weapon. Hope is lost. Now, at the end of times, Eli is going to have to make a choice: Save the ones she loves, or save herself. Either way, someone is going to die. </p><p>Alternate Season 5, sequel to "It's The End."</p><hr/><p>
  <em> Bobby rolled toward him. "All of you stupid people, just lining up to become martyrs. Did any of you ever stop to think that it might be the cowardly thing to do, sacrificing yourself? That you all want to do it because it's easier than staying here, in this miserable existence, alone? Hell, we're all gonna die eventually, right? It's just a matter of who gets to jump in first, and who has to wait around a few more years." He tossed the bag to Castiel, who caught it in a dazed manner. "Now stop whining and load the damn truck."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sympathy for the Devil

 

 

Dean and Sam winced, throwing up their hands to block the blinding, fiery light, expecting to be burnt to a crisp. After a few moments of white nothing they heard the soft buzz of air-conditioning and their legs were suddenly molded onto small, soft seats.

Dean mentally checked his vitals: Still breathing, check. Heart pumping, check. Had not peed himself in fear, check, thank God. Slowly he lowered his hands from his eyes and looked around.

"What the hell?"

They were sitting on a plane, still half hunched in preparation for the oncoming attack. A children's movie buzzed blithely in the background. The other passengers were reading or dozing lightly, completely unaware of the two men who had just appeared in their midst.

"I don't know," Sam breathed, patting himself down to make sure that he was really still there. His head shot up. "Where's Eli?"

They scanned the seats around them. "There," Dean muttered, pointing to the blonde at the edge of the center aisle a few rows down. The two brothers unsnapped their seat belts and squeezed out of the seats.

"Eli, hey!" Sam said, squatting next to her. She was unconscious, her head lolling back against the headrest, her breathing rapid. Her eyes were scrunched up as if in pain. "Eli, come on, wake up." He shook her lightly, sharing a panicked look with his brother.

Eli let out a huge gasp and sat straight up in the seat, her green eyes wide and terrified, lashing out instinctively. One closed fist slammed Sam in the eye.

"Ow, shit!" Sam exclaimed, falling back on his butt and quickly righting himself. Some of the other passengers glanced at the trio – the tall man crouching in the aisle, holding his eye, the man in the leather jacket looming over him, the woman with the freckles looking like she had just woken from a horrible dream- with disinterest before returning to their magazines.

"Sam? Dean? What the fuck happened?" she yelped a little too loudly, looking around her. "Are we dead? Is this heaven?" Her head pounded with fear and adrenaline, her fingers clenching convulsively around the armrests so that the plastic dug into her skin. It certainly _felt_ real enough. "Because if so, this sucks."

"We're not dead," Dean said, then eyed the plane suspiciously. "At least, I don't think so."

"We're not dead," Sam confirmed, taking his hand away from his eye; the skin was already starting to puff and yellow, forming what would become a nice shiner. "Something must have pulled us out of that room."

Eli inspected her hands and arms with wonder. "And put me back together," she mumbled. Her clothes were cleaner than they'd been in years, and a tentative prod revealed that there was no blood on her face. Her whole body was perfectly intact. She felt balanced, and knew instinctively that everything was back to normal. She could no longer teleport. Her power boost was gone.

The intercom crackled and the pilot spoke, his voice the familiar, calming drone of all pilots. "Folks, quick word from the flight deck. We're just passing over Ilchester, then Ellicott City, on our initial descent into Baltimore—"

"Ilchester?" Dean asked. He turned, leaning over an elderly couple to peer out the window at the patchwork of lights below. "Weren't we just there?"

The pilot continued to speak. "So if you'd like to stretch your legs, now would be a good time to—HOLY CRAP!"

A blinding column of light shot up from the ground, whirling like a luminous tornado. A high frequency noise whined in their ears; Eli covered her head and groaned, feeling the familiar shaking of the atoms she got when near extreme power. The plane banked, hard, to avoid the light, tossing people violently. Sam and Dean, still standing next to Eli's chair, were thrown roughly to the ceiling before crashing in a heap on the floor.

"Son of bitch," Dean moaned, in a distinctly terrified voice. "This is not my day."

* * *

They sped down the road in a rented car, the night slick and wet around them, lights rushing by the windows in a haze. Sam was switching idly through radio stations, hearing only bad news. After a minute he shut it off, unable to take it anymore.

"Dean, look," he started quietly. Dean shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Don't say anything."

The minutes ticked by. Finally Dean drew a long breath and said, in a clipped voice: "It's okay. We just got to keep our heads down and hash this out, all right?

Sam swallowed quietly. "Yeah, okay."

"All right," Dean said, relieved to change the subject. "All right, well, first things first—how did we end up on Soul Plane?"

Sam shrugged. "Angels, maybe? I mean, you know, beaming us out of harm's way?" He turned to Eli, who was sitting curled up in the back seat, watching the raindrops snake steadily down the widow with a blank look on her face. "You have any ideas, Eli?"

She looked at him slowly, her eyes hollow. "None," she said in a flat voice. "I have absolutely no idea how we're all sitting here alive right now. Or why we were even saved." Then she turned back to the window, her hands twisting thoughtlessly in the folds of her sweatshirt.

"Well, whatever," Dean said. "It's the least of our worries. We need to find Cas." He glanced in the rear-view window at Eli's pensive profile. "He's okay, Eli," he said with confidence. "You know Cas, he can take care of himself."

"Yeah," she said quietly, but without conviction.

* * *

Chuck's house looked like a tornado had hit it.

The three hunters walked through the devastated hallways. Beams lay haphazardly on the floor; books and papers were scattered everywhere. Paintings were upturned; glass and tile and broken china crunched under their feet. It was deathly silent.

"You better be the one to do what we talked about," Dean said to Eli in a quiet voice. "We can't risk your mind getting blown away too." She nodded and headed into the kitchen, drawing a knife from her boot.

There was a rustling noise. Chuck jumped out from the shadows, wielding a toilet plunger, which he used to whack Sam violently upside the head.

"Ow!" Sam cried, holding his temple and stumbling backward. "Will everyone please stop hitting me in the face?"

"Sam!" Chuck exclaimed, surprised. Sam nodded, clenching his jaw, his hand still pressed to his head.

"Hey, Chuck," Dean said as casually as he could, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"So...you're okay?" the prophet asked nervously, looking intensely at Sam. Sam gingerly lowered his arm from his face.

"Well, my head hurts," he said flatly.

"No, I mean…I mean, my… my last vision," Chuck stuttered. "You went, like, full-on Vader. Your body temperature was one-fifty. Your heart rate was two hundred. Your eyes were black. And then I saw Eli disintegrating in Lucifer's light…" He paused, looking around with panic in his eyes. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"I'm right here, Chuck," came Eli's voice from behind him. She walked wearily out of the kitchen, looking like crap: skin sallow, bags under her eyes, hair flat and sticking to her face. "I'm okay." She stared at him with a sick look of fear. "Is Cas…"

"He's dead," Chuck said apologetically. Eli's face crumpled. "Or gone. The Archangel smote the crap out of him. I'm sorry."

She hung her head, breathing deeply, then raised it again, her eyes cold, jaw clenched, face impossibly stoic.

"You're sure?" Dean asked, glancing at Eli. "I mean, maybe he just vanished into the light or something."

Chuck shook his head. "Oh, no. He, like, exploded," he said in a shaky voice, like he could hardly describe what he had seen. He wrapped his half-destroyed bathrobe around his thin body, looking slightly crazed. "Like a water balloon of chunky soup."

Eli closed her eyes. Chuck looked back at her and gulped. "Oh, ah…sorry." She said nothing, just shook her head and turned her back on them.

Sam was oblivious to the undertones of the conversation. He stepped forward, tilting his head and looking at Chuck with a mixture of embarrassment and disgust on his face. "You got a…" he started, motioning to his own ear.

Tentatively Chuck reached into his hair. "Uh...right here?"

Sam shook his head, indicating the other side. Chuck switched the toilet plunger he was still holding to his right hand. He rooted around in his thicket of messy hair for a moment, then winced, a look of absolute horror on his face. "Oh. Oh God." He pulled something out from right above his ear, holding it as far away from his body as he could while still looking at it intently. "Is that a molar? Do I have a molar in my hair?" He sighed, close to tears, and let out a little whimper. "This has been a really stressful day."

Dean groaned, shoving his hands even deeper into his jacket pockets. "Cas, you stupid bastard."

"Stupid?" Sam asked. "He was trying to help us."

Dean threw him a look, then glanced at Eli, who was still standing ramrod straight, her back to them. "Yeah, exactly."

There was a pause. "So, what now?" Sam asked. Dean shrugged.

"I don't know."

Chuck suddenly winced, looking heavenward. "Oh, crap." Eli spun around at the exact same time, sharing a look with the prophet. Her hands, one of them bloody, slowly clenched into shaking fists.

"What?" Sam asked, looking between the two of them.

"I can feel them," Chuck said nervously.

"Thought we'd find you here," a jovial voice announced from the devastated kitchen. Sam and Dean walked toward it, while Eli shrank back, hovering near the door. Chuck came to stand next to her; he put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly and she leaned into it, grateful for the support. "Playtime's over, Dean," Zachariah said pointedly, taking a step toward the brothers. "Time to come with us."

Dean took a shaky step back. "You just keep your distance, asshat."

The angel looked slightly confused. "You're upset."

Eli stood perfectly still and let them argue. She stared at Zachariah through lowered eyes, her face twisted into something ugly. There was a rage bubbling inside of her that was like nothing she had ever felt. It was like all of the panic and fear and desperation and deep, bone-aching sadness had been melted down and converted into sheer, blind hatred. She wanted to kill Zachariah. She wanted to kill him like she had never wanted to kill anything in her life. Her hands literally shook with the desire to wrap them around his neck and choke him until the light flickered out of his eyes. She thought back to the molar Chuck had found in his hair, then forced it away. She wanted anger; she wanted this slow burning, blind fury. It was so much better than despair.

She pulled herself back to the conversation. "His vessel?" Dean was saying with incredulity. "Lucifer needs a meat suit?"

"He is an angel," Zachariah said, turning to look at his two angelic cronies with a slight condescending chuckle. "Them's the rules." He faced Dean again, suddenly serious. "And when he touches down, we're talking Four Horsemen, red oceans, fiery skies—the greatest hits. You can stop him, Dean, but you need our help."

Dean took a slow, steady step forward. "You listen to me, you two-faced douche. After what you did, I don't want jack squat from you!"

Zachariah face warped, the genial façade gone. "You listen to me, boy! You think you can rebel against us? As Lucifer did?" Suddenly he looked past Dean, really noticing Eli for the first time. "And look who's here as well. The rebellious little Nephilim. You know, we finally figured out how you jumped up the power ladder." He chuckled, but there was no mirth in it. Eli's face went dangerously closed, becoming so furious it drained her of all visible emotion. He swung a finger back at forth at her like it was a ticking pendulum. "Naughty girl. Shouldn't have been surprised, though, considering what your father did. Your very existence does seem to corrupt those around you, doesn't it?"

Eli did nothing but clench her fist tighter, and blood dripped from it to spot the ground sticky red. Zachariah looked puzzled. "You're bleeding."

"Dean's idea," she spat in a voice that was lower and harsher than her usual tones. "A little insurance policy in case you dicks showed up."

In one swift movement she pulled out the sliding kitchen door and slammed her palm on the angel-banishing sigil, watching with satisfaction as it flared with power.

"No!" Zachariah managed to cry out, lurching forward, but white light filled the room and blew him away. Dean smirked.

"We learned that from our friend Cas, you son of a bitch," he yelled to the empty room. Eli merely dropped her hand from the sigil and stared at her bloody palm, her shoulders slumped and face blank. Behind her, Chuck let out a groan.

"This sucks ass."

* * *

Eli was just leaving the motel room as Sam rushed past her. "Hey," he said, catching her by the sleeve of her leather jacket. She hadn't slept all night and looked exhausted, her slightly-greasy hair tucked under a baseball cap. "Where are you going?"

"Out for a walk," she said in clipped tones. "I figured you guys might have some things to hash out and I really don't want to be in the crossfire while you do. I'll be back in like an hour." She turned away but paused as he pressed something into her hand. "What's this?"

"Hex bag," Sam explained. "You should really have it at all times. It'll hide you from angels and demons."

She stared at the bag for a long moment, something infinitely sad on her face, like it reminded her of happier times. Then her eyes went flat again and she pushed the bag back into his hand. "Don't need it," she said wearily. "I've already got one." She gave him a ghostly half-smile and walked away.

Eli wandered aimlessly for a while, finally finding herself at a local park. She sank onto one of the wooden benches, wrapping her jacket tighter around her. It was cold out today, the sky the gloomy, gun-metal grey that signaled future rain. Children were playing on the swings and the jungle gyms, shrieking and laughing, their breath steaming in the chill air, their little shoes squishing muddily on the soft earth.

Eli was reminded forcefully of the times she had met Castiel in the park, how in the fall the light had dappled his dark hair gold, how he had stood so close to her, tilting his head and squinting his eyes in his usual birdlike manner, warmth radiating from his body as if from a heater. She breathed deeply, feeling like tiny needles were piercing the inside of her chest. Her heart ached.

The truth was she had been ready to die back there. In that room, in a blaze of white light, facing down Lucifer. It seemed a fitting end for her, the so-called bodyguard, to die protecting her charges. To sacrifice herself for something greater, so that her death would have meant something. So that she wouldn't have to wake up another day alone in this shitty, cold, rainy, miserable world and face the apocalypse and get the shit beaten out of her and feel totally and utterly useless and hopeless. It would have been a relief, for all of that to end, to disintegrate peacefully and sleep.

She refused to cry. She had felt the sting of tears along the edges of her eyes for days now, felt the heavy burn in her chest that was like a knotted ball waiting to be released, but she refused to let it go. Maybe after Zachariah was dead she would cry. Maybe after they saved the world; or, alternately, once they came to their senses and just gave up hope. But not now. Not when she could use that energy building inside of her and channel it into something productive, like anger. Like hate.

Finally, her fingers numb and nose red and dripping, Eli left the park and headed sullenly to a fast food restaurant before making her way back to the hotel.

She found Dean reclining on the bed and Sam sitting studiously at his laptop. The room was tellingly silent, the chatter of the TV the only noise. Neither brother was looking at the other.

"Here," she said, tossing a bag to Dean and handing one to Sam. "I picked up food. Sorry if it's kinda cold. I figure we may all be drowning in our own misery but at least we can eat."

She kicked her boots off and threw her jacket on a chair, then sat down next to Dean on the bed, forcing him to scoot over. She propped her feet up and dug into the bag, taking a mouthful of French fries without much enthusiasm. "Ugh, tastes like cardboard."

Just then there was a knock at the door. Everyone snapped to attention. Eli jumped up and walked across the room with her gun drawn, so that she would be hidden when the door opened. Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, his back straight, gun in his hand. After sharing a look with them, Sam got up and opened the door.

Eli could hear the fast breathing of someone hyperventilating on the other side. Sam frowned. "You okay, lady?"

A high-pitched voice whispered: "Sam...is it really you?"

Sam glanced back at Dean nervously. The woman stepped forward, putting her hand on Sam's chest. "And you're so firm," she near moaned.

Sam stared at her with bewilderment in his eyes. "I, uh, do I know you?" he asked finally.

She pushed past him into the room, light brown hair swinging behind her, practically bubbling with excitement. "No. But I know you. You're Sam Winchester. And you're—" She paused, looking at Dean, who had hidden his gun and was staring at her with slight amusement on his handsome face. "—not what I pictured." His grin disappeared. Eli shifted a little, her gun tucked in the back of her jeans, trying to stifle a laugh. The girl turned to her, looking surprised and a little suspicious. "I don't know who you are," she said coldly, before facing the Winchesters, suddenly chipper again. "I'm Becky. I read all about you guys. And I've even written a few…" She trailed off, looking down and giggling, her hands compulsively smoothing the front of her sweater-vest. "Anyway, Mr. Edlund told me where you were."

All of them leaned in, suddenly highly interested. Dean stood up. "Chuck?" he asked, walking closer to her as Sam closed the door.

"He's got a message," she said breathlessly. "But he's being watched. Angels!" She looked heavenward with more excitement than Eli thought was even possible to have. "Nice change-up to the mythology, by the way. The demon stuff was getting kind of old."

"Right," Sam said impatiently, taking a step back from Becky, who was lingering too close and appeared to be sniffing him dreamily. "Just, um...what's the message?"

"He had a vision." She closed her eyes and moved her hands as if tracing the words in the air. " _'The Michael sword is on earth. The angels lost it_.'"

Dean stepped forward, tilting his head. "The Michael sword?"

"Becky," Sam said, and the sound of him saying her name seemed to send her into raptures. "Does he know where it is?"

"In a castle," she whispered reverently. "On a hill made of forty-two dogs."

"Forty-two dogs?" Eli asked skeptically.

Becky turned to glare at her, moving closer to Sam as if to shield him from the interloping woman. "Who _are_ you, anyway?"

Eli looked her straight in the eye. "I'm Sam's girlfriend," she deadpanned. Becky gasped, her face going horribly white. Dean let out a snort that was a bad attempt at covering a laugh. Sam groaned and covered his face with his hands.

"You…you…" Becky stuttered, as if she could barely breathe. She swayed a little on the spot.

"Dude, I think she's going to have an aneurysm," Dean said, snickering.

Finally Eli held up her hands. "Joking, joking!" she exclaimed, watching the color flood back into Becky's face as she processed the words. "Sheesh."

Becky blinked, able to breathe again, and turned to Sam with reverence. "So…you're single?"

"Actually he's gay," Eli said helpfully. Dean started laughing, not even trying to cover it up.

"Eli!" Sam exclaimed reproachfully. "Stop it!" He looked at Becky with long-suffering eyes. "Let's get back to the forty-two dogs. Are you sure you got that right?"

She nodded, her eyes huge, having dismissed the gay statement as an obvious joke by some blonde loony who wanted Sam all to herself. "It doesn't make sense, but that's what he said. I memorized every word." She reached out and placed her hand against his pec; she closed her eyes, savoring the experience. "For you."

Eli let out a little snort. Sam glared at her, then at Dean, silently asking for help, but they just grinned wolfishly at him. Finally Sam looked down, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Um, Becky, c—uh, can you...quit touching me?"

She shook her head fervently, her eyes still closed. "No."

* * *

When Eli heard that Bobby was coming with the Impala, she felt a rush of claustrophobia. She couldn't stand any more human interaction, couldn't look at Bobby's gentle, father-like face without breaking down and weeping into his arms, couldn't take the rehashing of events that was sure to come. She had to get out.

Hours later, when she received the phone call that Bobby was being rushed to the hospital, she regretted this decision more than anything.

She burst through the doors just as Bobby was being wheeled away on a gurney. "Is he gonna be okay?" she gasped, skidding to a stop behind the two brothers. "What happened?"

"He was possessed," Dean said grimly, not looking at her. "He stabbed himself with the Knife rather than hurt me."

Eli felt like she had been punched in the stomach. "Oh, God…"

Dean turned toward the door and brushed past her, still not looking her in the face. "We gotta go."

"We can't just leave him," Sam protested, grabbing his brother's arm.

"The demons heard where the sword is!" Dean near-yelled, drawing puzzled glances from the other patients. "We got to get to it before they do, if we're not too late already. Come on!"

He yanked his arm out of Sam's grip and marched single-mindedly toward the door. Sam shared a long look with Eli; she shrugged, and with one glance back to where Bobby had been wheeled away, they left.

The ride to the lockup was mostly quiet. Eli tried once to speak.

"Listen, guys," she said, scooting to the center and leaning forward until she was nearly at their level. Outside, the world rushed by, cold and damp. "I just…" She hesitated, trying to find the words. "I just wanted to say I'm…I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Sam asked, looking at her profile. She bowed her head, her hair falling around her face, shadowed and flat in the darkness.

"If I had been there, if I had stayed, I would have been able to see the demon…"

"It wasn't your fault," Sam started, but Dean interrupted.

"Yeah, but she's right, and you know it." He turned from the road for instant to glare at Eli. "If you hadn't been so wrapped up in your little self-pity fest then maybe Bobby wouldn't be in the hospital right now."

"Dean," Sam said reproachfully.

"What?" Dean spat out, eyes back on the road. "We all have our issues. So it's been rough. Boo-fucking-hoo. The fucking apocalypse is coming. Now more than ever we have to get our heads out of our asses and face this thing or else we're all gonna die."

Eli slid back to her side of the backseat. "You're right," she said softly. "Sorry. Really."

Dean's tone became kinder, as if he had just realized how harsh his words were. "Shit, Eli, I… I'm just upset about Bobby."

"No, you're right," she said, staring out the window at the rush of lights on the highway. "I have to get myself together. I have to let this go."

The rest of the ride was silent.

It was near midnight when they arrived at the lockup. All three entered with shotguns ready, only to find the demons already dead, sprawled across the floor in bloody heaps.

"I see you told the demons where the sword is," a nauseatingly familiar voice said. Zachariah stepped into the light, shadowed by two angelic cronies. Dean let out a fake sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank God, the angels are here," he said sarcastically.

"And to think," Zachariah said, approaching him, his hands clasped behind his back. "They could have grabbed it any time they wanted." He waved a hand, closing the doors behind them and effectively trapping the hunters inside. "It was right in front of them."

His tone, so drunk on his own self-satisfaction, so condescending, made Eli's blood curdle in rage.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked cautiously.

Zachariah smiled expansively. "We may have planted that particular piece of prophecy inside Chuck's skull, but it happened to be true. We did lose the Michael sword. We truly couldn't find it. Until now. You've just hand-delivered it to us." His smile widened, showing too much teeth. Eli wanted to rip his throat out.

"We don't have anything," Dean snapped.

Zachariah gave him a bored look, as if speaking to someone particularly dense. "It's you, chucklehead. You're the Michael sword."

All of them stared blankly at the angel. Even Eli was shocked enough that her hands dropped out of fists for one moment. Zachariah chuckled.

"What, you thought you could actually kill Lucifer?" His tone dripped with derision. "You simpering wad of insecurity and self-loathing. No. You're just a human, Dean. And not much of one."

"What do you mean, I'm the sword?" Dean demanded.

"You're Michael's weapon," Zachariah explained patiently. He tipped his head, thinking. "Or, rather, his...receptacle."

There was a long pause in which Dean absorbed this information. Then: "I'm a vessel?"

"You're _the_ vessel," Zachariah said, pleased that he had finally gotten it. "Michael's vessel."

"No!" Eli cried, unable to help herself. Zachariah turned as if noticing her for the first time.

"Elijah, good. I was hoping you'd be here. I want to talk to you."

"I have _nothing_ to talk to you about," she snarled.

"Actually, there is," he said genially. She bared her teeth at him. He shook his head. "Elijah, Elijah, Elijah. You have us pegged as such villains. But we're not, you know. All we want is to save the world. All we want is paradise." He paused, letting this sink in. "And as a testament to our unsurpassed mercy, we are offering you one last chance. After everything you have done, you can still join us. Still become an angel." He held open his hand and the grace was in it, dangling from its silver chain exactly as it had before, though now the swirling colors sickened Eli. "Accept the grace," he crooned softly.

She looked at him through eyes so filled with rage that he even backed up a little. "After everything _I've_ done?" she growled, then screamed it. "After everything _I've done_!" She lunged at him, seeing nothing but red. Dimly she was aware that Sam had grabbed her from behind and was holding her steady, keeping her from leaping tooth and claw at the angel. She twisted desperately, trying to get out of Sam's grip. "How about after everything you've done, you smug, arrogant, repulsive piece of shit!" she howled. "You should be asking me to show you mercy! He's dead because of you!"

Then, as if the words had shut off a switch in her brain, she went limp in Sam's arms, breathing hard, her head hanging down. Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably. She barely even heard his next words.

"What a disgusting display of violence," Zachariah's voice said with derision. She looked up at him hatefully.

"Dean will _never_ say yes to being some angel's fucking meat suit," she spat. Zachariah raised his eyebrows.

"Now, that I don't understand. You of all people should want this, Elijah. You know he's not just _some angel._ " He paused, measuring out his words for the greatest effect. "Don't you want to meet your father?"

There was a long, stunned silence. Finally Dean turned to her, croaking: "Wait a minute. Michael – the Archangel Michael, king of smiters, who currently wants my skin – _he's_ your father?"

"You didn't know?" Zachariah asked with false surprise. "Why else do you think she was allowed to live? With God out of the picture, Michael's word is practically law. Speaking of which…" He turned to Dean with an ingratiating smile. "What do you say, kiddo? You're the chosen one. Saving the world and all that."

"Oh, yeah," Dean snorted. "Yeah, life as an angel condom. That's real fun. I think I'll pass, thanks."

Zachariah shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Joking. Always joking," he muttered. "Well...no more jokes."

He held up his hand, fingers positioned like a gun, and pointed it at Dean, who recoiled a little. He smirked, then shifted it to Sam, who was still holding Eli from behind. "Bang."

There was a loud sound like the snapping of wood, and Sam fell to the ground, grabbing at his legs, moaning. Eli immediately crouched over him, pulling his head into her lap while he whimpered in pain, murmuring soothing words and shooting death glares at the angels.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, stepping forward. Zachariah held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"Keep mouthing off, I'll break more than his legs." His voice turned nasty. "I am completely and utterly through screwing around. The war has begun. We don't have our general. That's bad. Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the Adversary." He moved closer to Dean, nearly breathing down his neck. "You understand me?"

"How many humans die in the crossfire, huh?" Dean demanded, his voice rising. "A million? Five? Ten?"

"Probably more," Zachariah said with a shrug. "If Lucifer goes unchecked, you know how many die? All of them." He dropped his tone, sounding infinitely more menacing. "He'll roast the planet alive."

Dean paused, studying the angel. "There's a reason you're telling me this instead of just nabbing me," he said slowly, understanding dawning on his face. "You need my consent. Michael needs my say-so to ride around in my skin."

Zachariah scowled at him. "Unfortunately, yes."

Dean crossed his arms stubbornly. Behind him, Sam was still writhing on the floor, Eli crouched over him. "Well, there's got to be another way," he insisted.

Zachariah was getting frustrated. " _There is no other way_. There must be a battle. Michael must defeat the serpent. It is written."

"Yeah, maybe. But on the other hand…" Dean shrugged, narrowing his eyes at the angel, his casual manner not fully hiding his fear. "Eat me. The answer's no."

"Okay," Zachariah said slowly, with the air of someone trying very, very hard to be patient. "How about this? Your friend Bobby—we know he's gravely injured. Say yes, and we'll heal him. Say no, he'll never walk again."

Sam and Eli looked at Dean from their position on the floor. Dean shook his head. "No."

"Then how about we heal you from..." He gave Dean an appraising look. "Stage-four stomach cancer?"

Dean stared at him quizzically for a moment, then clutched his stomach in pain. He doubled over, coughing with an angry retching sound, blood coming up dark in his palm. He glared at Zachariah. "No."

"Then let's get really creative." The angel seemed to be enjoying himself. He twisted his face thoughtfully for a moment. "Uh, let's see how...Sam does without his lungs."

A look of fear shot over Sam's face, and he began to scrabble desperately at his chest, unable to breathe.

"You sick bastard!" Eli screamed, standing up and advancing on him. He held up the palm of his hand and she stopped, struggling against thin air as if it were a barrier.

"And you, Elijah," he said, smiling serenely. "What will it take for you to accept the grace? I'm sure you're just as stubborn as our Dean here, but really, everybody breaks eventually."

"Why is it so fucking important to you?" she demanded. "Why is it so necessary that I become an angel?"

He looked at her steadily. "It just is. Trust me, Elijah, you'll be saving a lot of lives by accepting this."

On the floor, Sam's struggles were getting weaker.

"Go to hell," she ground out.

"Oh, I won't. But I could make very sure that others do. Namely, your parents."

Her face became murderous. "You touch one hair on their heads and I will rip your throat out with my teeth," she promised.

"Say yes and I won't have to do anything," he countered. She glowered at him for a long moment, despair etched on her features. She thought of her home, of the smell of the fruit trees in the backyard, of her mother baking brownies, of her dad falling asleep in front of the television. Of the whole life that she had so callously abandoned when she left to become a hunter. A life she gave up to be standing here right now, damning those she loved out of sheer stubbornness and selfishness.

Zachariah was watching her patiently, the hint of a smile playing on his lips, as if he knew he had her cornered. Then, with slow, deliberate movement, she shook her head. "No."

Behind her, Sam had gone still.

"Just kill us," Dean finally spat, his hands still clutching his stomach.

"Kill you?" Zachariah asked, surprised. "Oh, no. I'm just getting started."

And then, everything exploded.

White light flared from behind Zachariah, forcing them all to shield their eyes. For a split second Eli felt the angelic ringing that shook her bones, but there was something familiar about it. When it stopped an angel fell dead at their feet, a hole through his neck.

She looked up, and her heart stopped. _It can't be…_

Castiel was there, not a scratch on him, struggling with the second angel. He threw the angel to the floor and crouched over him, trench coat flaring, and stabbed him in the back. Light flared and then died, like a candle going out.

Castiel stood slowly and walked forward, fixing Zachariah with a cold stare. Zachariah backed up nervously.

"How are you..." he began. Castiel finished for him, his voice the same low rasp it had always been.

"Alive? That's a good question. How did these three end up on that airplane? Another good question. Because the angels didn't do it." He paused, looking hard at Zachariah. "I think we both know the answer, don't we?"

The angel shook his head disbelievingly. "No. That's not possible."

"It scares you," Castiel said flatly. "Well, it should. Now put these boys back together and go. I won't ask twice."

Zachariah vanished. Sam took a deep breath and sat up, his eyes wide. Dean straightened from his crouched position, wiping blood onto his jeans with a look of disgust. Eli just stared, unable to move.

Castiel stepped forward. "You need to be more careful," he said darkly. Finally he looked at Eli, and his gaze softened. He moved to her side. "Are you all right?"

She touched his trench coat with one tentative finger. "You're alive…" she croaked out, hardly able to believe it. "How…?"

"I don't know," he admitted. He reached out like he wanted to touch her face, but dropped his hand to his side, turning to the Winchesters. "Lucifer is circling his vessel," he informed them. "And once he takes it, those hex bags won't be enough to protect you."

He put a hand on Eli's chest, and she gasped as a sharp, scraping pain racked over her insides. Then he moved and did the same to the brothers.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded, wincing.

"An Enochian sigil," he said, staring at Eli. "It'll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer."

"What, did you just brand us with it?" Dean snapped. Castiel looked back at him, his face blank.

"No. I carved it into your ribs."

There was a moment of silence as they all contemplated this.

Finally Sam spoke up. "Hey, Cas, were you really dead?"

Castiel nodded with a certain air of resignation. "Yes."

"Then how are you back?" Dean asked. Castiel merely stared at him, then turned back to Eli.

"I must go," he said softly. "It is not safe here. I'll speak with you soon."

"Cas," she started, reaching out impulsively, but he was gone.


	2. Good God, Y'all! (Sing It Again!)

 

 

"Sam told me," Eli said, sitting on the hospital bed and speaking in low tones to Bobby. Out in the hallway, Sam and Dean were talking, shooting glances at them every now and then. "About how he stole the collar from your safe and gave it to Ruby."

"He told me, too," Bobby said morosely, his dirty ball cap pulled low over his eyes and clashing with the blue hospital bathrobe.

"Did you ever figure out what it was?" she asked, swinging her feet and picking idly at the cotton bedspread. She was freshly showered and in jeans and a clean sweater, her hair pulled into a low ponytail, looking more like a normal girl than she had in a while. Bobby shook his head.

"I looked, for years I looked. But there's no lore on a silver collar a demon might try to put on a Nephilim." He sighed. "Anyway, it's gone now. Sam said last place it was was the convent, when Lucifer busted out. Maybe it was destroyed."

"Maybe," Eli said without conviction. "I just… none of this makes sense. Sam said Ruby was talking about it like it was some kind of weapon. And then the angels wanted to force me to accept their stupid grace. I don't get it."

Bobby frowned, resting his head on his chest. "Wish I could tell ya, kid. Doesn't seem like I'm of much use to anybody now."

Eli looked at the man who had basically taken the place of her father over the past six years. Seeing him weakened and confined to that chair felt so wrong, like seeing a tiger in a cage. "How are you doing?" she asked softly. "And don't shoot me any snarky one-liners. I'm serious."

He didn't look at her. "I'm alive," he bit out. "Guess I should be thankful, or something. Doesn't seem like there's much to be thankful for, though."

Just then there was a commotion from outside the door and Eli heard a familiar voice. Her heart gave a little jump as she turned around to see him speaking with the brothers.

"You're hidden from angels now—all angels," he was explaining. "I won't be able to simply—"

"Enough foreplay," Bobby said loudly. The three men looked over at him, and Castiel noticed her sitting there for the first time. They locked gazes for a moment, and she smiled weakly.

"Get over here and lay your damn hands on," Bobby snapped, wheeling his chair around to glare belligerently at them. No one moved. "Get healing. Now."

"I can't," Castiel said apologetically. Bobby's face darkened.

"Say again?" he growled.

Castiel walked into the room, reaching out to lightly brush the edge of Eli's arm with his fingers as he passed. "I'm cut off from Heaven and much of Heaven's power," he explained quietly. "Certain things I can do. Certain things I can't."

"You're telling me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life? That I've got one angel and one half-angel in the room with me and _neither_ of you can do shit about the situation?"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, really meaning it.

Bobby wheeled his chair to face the window again. "Shove it up your ass," he muttered brokenly.

The angel shifted his attention to Dean, Sam, and Eli, who were standing in a ragged line near the door. "I don't have much time," he told them urgently. "We need to talk."

"Okay," Dean said, crossing his arms. He looked tired, his spiky hair a little flatter than usual, the yellow envelope containing x-ray of his ribs clenched in tight fingers.

"Your plan to kill Lucifer…" Castiel started. Dean nodded, interrupting him.

"Yeah. You want to help?"

Castiel shook his head. "No. It's foolish. It can't be done." He said it flatly, without any hint of doubt. Dean's shoulders dropped.

"Oh," he said without surprise. "Well thanks for the support."

Castiel took a step closer to them, his tone low, his blue eyes intense. "But I believe I have the solution. There is someone besides Michael strong enough to take on Lucifer. Strong enough to stop the apocalypse." He paused. If Eli didn't know any better she would have said it was for dramatic effect.

"Who's that?" Sam finally asked. Castiel looked at him, all earnestness.

"The one who resurrected me and put you on that airplane. The one who began everything. God. I'm gonna find God."

There was a stunned pause. Then Dean said brightly, sarcasm thickly lacing his voice: "Try New Mexico, I hear he's on a tortilla."

Castiel tilted his head and stared at the elder Winchester, truly puzzled. "No, he's not on any flatbread."

Eli stepped back, listening to the rest of the conversation with interest but not participating. She sank down on the bed and closed her eyes, letting the sound of his voice wash over her. He was going to find God. She didn't know what that meant. She didn't know what she believed, if she believed. If there was a God, did He hate her, as the angels did? Did He too find her an abomination? It seemed that Michael being her father was the only thing keeping her alive. When, _if_ He returned to Heaven, would His first order of business be to wipe the black mark from the record? And what did this mean for Castiel? Where would he have to search, what would he have to do?

Eli was so tired of asking questions with no answers.

She heard Castiel explain to the brothers that he was now hunted, heard the despair and frustration crack his voice. She couldn't imagine the pain of having to kill ones own family, even if it was for the right cause. She wondered briefly why he hadn't contacted her, why he barely looked at her. She thought of the small moment when he brushed his long fingers against her arm as he entered the room. Did he blame her for his fall? Did he even still care for her?

She glanced up. Dean was reluctantly giving Castiel the amulet from around his neck. "Don't lose it," he warned just as the angel's hand wrapped around the small medallion. Dean moved his shoulders around, trying to adjust to the lack of familiar weight around his neck. "Great. Now I feel naked."

"I'll be in touch," Castiel promised, then looked over to the bed. "Eli, may I speak with you for a moment, privately?"

Eli nodded and jumped to her feet. "Yeah, of course." He opened the door and she brushed past him.

"What's that all about?" Bobby asked, looking at Sam, who shrugged. Dean just raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

Eli and Castiel stood facing each other in the hallway, the whitewashed lights bleaching everything into flat colors. Around them flowed nurses and doctors, and the air smelled sterile, like rubbing alcohol. Eli looked up at him, amazed at how blue his eyes were, and took a tentative step forward. "Cas…"

He reached for her and she curled into his chest, his arms wrapped around her as she breathed in his familiar smell of sun and summer, trying very hard not to cry. "You were dead," she said in a broken voice. He sighed, resting his chin on her head and closing his eyes.

"I know. I am sorry for not contacting you earlier. It has been dangerous, and I did not know…" He trailed off. Eli stepped reluctantly away from his warmth to stare up at his face.

"What?"

"I did not know if you had forgiven me," he finished quietly, looking at her with pained eyes. "I was afraid that…"

She cut him off by tilting her head up and placing a brief kiss on his mouth. "You're alive," she murmured. "And you saved us in the end. That's all that matters."

He responded by returning the kiss, deepening it slightly. His mouth was soft on hers, very real, and it was at that instant that she truly believed he was alive. He pulled away after just a moment, resting his forehead against hers, staring into her green eyes. "I know what happened at the convent. You nearly sacrificed yourself to get the Winchesters out."

She let out a little laugh. "Well, someone had to," she said. He tugged her closer.

"Just…don't do it again," he softly insisted.

"Cas," she said, pulling back fractionally but wrapping her arms around his waist under the trench coat. "Sam had that collar, the one Azazel tried to put on me. It was in the convent when Lucifer broke free."

"I'm afraid he has it now," Castiel said in a grim voice. She took a deep breath.

"Do you know what it is?" she asked, fearing the answer. He shook his head slowly.

"I know only that it is a binding object, forged in the fires of Heaven. Very rare."

"To bind what?" she asked. He glanced at her, his brow wrinkled deeply.

"Power."

Eli raised her eyebrows in confusion. "What does that mean?"

He met her gaze, looking troubled. "I don't know."

There was a moment of silence. Then he sighed. "I must go."

She pulled him closer, so that their torsos molded together, so that she could feel his heart beating steadily in his chest. "When will I see you again?" she asked.

"As soon as I am able, I will return," he promised, and she scoffed.

"That's not an answer."

He cupped her face with one hand, smiling for the first time, and kissed her forehead. "I know." He leaned down to her mouth, making the kiss as sweet and lingering as possible. And then he was gone.

There was one brief blessed moment of peace, before…

"What the hell was that?" a voice echoed from behind her. Eli's shoulders immediately tensed and she turned with a guilty look on her face.

Bobby was sitting in the doorway, Sam and Dean behind him. Bobby's face was red and livid, Sam's was white with shock, and Dean just looked bored and mildly amused.

"Get in here now, girl," Bobby growled, wheeling his way back into the room. Eli followed nervously. "Close the door!" Bobby barked, and Sam obeyed. The old hunter fixed Eli with a steely glare, looking oddly intimidating for a man in a wheelchair. "Did I just see what I think I saw?"

"Aw, give the girl a break," Dean said. "She's not hurting anyone."

There was a moment of deathly silence. Then Sam turned to his brother and asked: "Dean, did you _know_ about this?"

Dean stuttered, dropping his gaze to the floor and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "I, ah, might have had an idea. Or two."

"How long?" Bobby asked icily. "How long has this been going on?"

"A couple months," she admitted sheepishly, barely able to meet his eyes.

"So wait a minute, you and Cas…" Sam started, trying to put it all together. "Before Lucifer's cage opened?" She nodded. "Before Cas got pulled back to Heaven?" She nodded again, closing her eyes. "Before we met Chuck?" Sam asked, wracking his brain.

"Look, it's been a while, okay?" she finally snapped. "And I don't see what the big deal is."

"Oh she _doesn't see what the big deal is_ ," Bobby said in a mocking voice. "No, screwing an angel isn't a big deal at all."

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, going red in the face. He glowered at her.

"Well you are, aren't you? Looked right cozy out in the hallway."

"You know what, I don't have to take this," she hissed, grabbing her jacket off of the bed. "You can say or think whatever the hell you want, but he makes me happy, and the whole goddamned world is about to end, so I think we have bigger issues on our hands, don't you?" She started to the door, jamming her arms into the sleeves of her coat with more force than necessary.

"He's not even a person." Bobby's voice stopped her in her tracks, one hand on the door knob. "He's wearing some poor son-of-a-bitch like a suit. You may be sleeping with an angel, but you're fucking someone's husband."

Eli's free hand spasmed at her side. She turned around and said, clearly and concisely: "Fuck you." Then she pushed open the door and left the room.

* * *

"So this is River Pass, Colorado, eh?" Eli asked the next day in a quiet voice. "Nice town. Bit deserted for my taste, but you know, nowhere's perfect."

"Shut up!" Dean hissed. The three hunters were walking cautiously through the empty streets, guns drawn. Around them were overturned cars and broken glass, downed telephone poles, sprinklers still chugging out water over empty yards. Somewhere ahead of them "Spirit in the Sky" was playing, adding an eerie touch to the proceedings. Parked on the corner, in oddly pristine condition, was a cherry red Mustang. Dean looked at it and whistled under his breath.

They inched down the street, inspecting every vehicle. Blood was splashed like paint over the sidewalks, making the devastation seem hauntingly post-apocalyptic. Sam leaned into a busted car, flicking off the blasting radio, and silence descended.

There was a sound behind them. All three whirled around, guns at the ready.

"Ellen?" Sam asked in disbelief. The older woman's eyes widened at the sight of them, but besides that her face didn't change.

"Hello, boys," she said, keeping her voice hushed and lowering her gun. She looked at Eli and nodded, a little surprised. "Eli."

"Hey, Ellen," she said, smiling.

"Ellen, what the hell's going on here?" Dean asked as she walked toward them, but the only answer he got was a liter of holy water tossed in his face. He blinked wetly, water dripping off of his short hair and down his chin. He spat a little out. "We're us."

She merely nodded, turned, and began walking away. The three hunters shared a glance before following her silently.

They entered a church with a devil's trap scrawled on the floor, closing the door with a soft thump and latching it from the inside. Only then did Ellen face them.

"Real glad to see you boys," she said breathily, with something close to tears in her voice. She hugged Dean tight, like a momma bear welcoming a lost cub, then pulled back and slapped him hard across the face. "The can of whoopass I ought to open on you," she snapped, her tone a mixture of relief and weariness. "You can't pick up a phone? What are you, allergic to giving me peace of mind? I got to find out that you're alive from Rufus?" Her voice was getting louder and louder as she berated him. Dean's face fell, for once looking appropriately ashamed.

"Sorry, Ellen," he muttered. Her expression calmed, but her words stayed biting.

"Yeah, you better be. You better put me on speed dial, kid."

He nodded diligently, smiling a little at her worry. "Yes, ma'am."

She hugged Sam, then finally turned to Eli. "Eli Grant," she said. "Long time no see. Didn't expect to see you here. You running with these boys now?"

"Yes, ma'am," Eli said, grinning. "You're looking lovely, as always."

"How exactly do you two know each other?" Sam asked. Eli looked at him like he was dim.

"I was a hunter long before I got mixed up with you two. I used to stop by the Roadhouse for the occasional drink." She paused, her voice becoming softer. "Before it burned." She turned back to Ellen. "I'm so sorry. I heard about Ash. He was a good guy. Bad hair, but… good guy."

"Yeah, well, hard times for everything," Ellen said bravely, with only a hint of sadness. "Come on, let's get downstairs."

They clunked single file down the creaky wooden staircase, peppering the older hunter with questions. At the bottom she turned, staring them down, her eyes resigned and a little frightened.

"So, this is it, right?" she asked. "End times? It's got to be."

Dean and Sam glanced at each other. Sam dropped his face guiltily. Dean nodded, staring at a point on the far wall, his mouth tight. "Seems like it."

Ellen merely nodded and knocked on the door. A small peephole appeared, and she spoke into it. "It's me."

There was the sound of many chains being removed and improvised deadbolts being undone, and the door opened. They entered the room, passing over another devil's trap as they did so. Inside were about ten people, all sitting or loitering around an old table, all with varying degrees of fear and panic on their faces. One young woman was heavily pregnant, her hand caressing her stomach nervously; with her white-blonde hair, she could have been Eli's sister.

"This is Sam and Dean, and Eli," Ellen said, indicating the three behind her. "They're hunters. Here to help."

An attractive young man with lean, fox-like features approached them. "You guys hip to this whole demon thing?" he asked, eyeing Eli and her French-braided pigtails with skepticism.

"Yeah," Dean answered shortly. "Are you?"

"My wife's eyes turned black," said a voice from the table. "She came at me with a brick. Kind of makes you embrace the paranormal."

Eli turned to the new speaker. He was an unassuming man, in his late 40s with close-cropped grey hair and glasses. Suddenly her head began to ache, a dull pounding ringing in her ears. Her mouth tasted strange, like ash and gunpowder. She blinked hard, staring at him. He looked normal but there was something… _off_. Like he was slightly blurry around the edges, like she was looking through a wet window, colors fuzzed and bleeding together. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

"… we got here, and the place—well, the place was like you see it," Ellen was saying, and Eli tore her attention from the man to focus on the other hunters. Her headache immediately eased. "Couldn't find Rufus, then me and Jo got separated. I was out looking when I found you."

"Don't worry, we'll find her," Dean promised.

"Either way, these people cannot just sit here," Sam added, looking around the room. "We've got to get them out now."

Ellen shook her head, her prematurely lined face wrinkled with exhaustion. "No, it's not that easy. I've been trying. We already made a run for it once."

"What happened?" Eli asked.

Ellen looked at her flatly. "There used to be twenty of us."

They gazed at the beaten survivors for a moment, mentally counting. Then Dean squared his shoulders, trying to sound confident. "Well, there's four of _us_ now—"

"You don't know what it's like out there," Ellen said, cutting him off fiercely. "Demons are everywhere. We won't be able to cover everybody." She let her gaze flicker to the pregnant woman, who was clutching her stomach, her pretty face white with nerves.

"What if we get everyone guns?" Sam finally asked. Dean rolled his eyes.

"What, are you gonna arm up baby bump over there?"

"More salt we can fire at once, more demons we can keep away," Sam pointed out. Eli nodded.

"I agree. Seems the only option now. Save as many as we can, fast as we can."

Dean looked between the two of them, then nodded slowly, consenting. "There's a sporting goods store we passed on Main on the way in. I bet they got guns."

The three hunters dropped their bags on the floor. "All right," Sam said, speaking to Ellen. "You stay. We'll go."

"What about—" she started.

"If Jo and Rufus are out there, we'll bring them back," Sam promised in an earnest voice, lank hair flopping in his eyes. Before she could argue he opened the door and stepped outside.

Eli knew what was coming next. She could see the doubt and distrust in Dean's face, how he was fidgeting, pacing, hands jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket like he was trying to force himself to stay calm. She could almost mouth the words before he said them.

"Why don't Eli and I just go?" Dean said, a bit too belligerently. "Somebody's got to stay here and start giving them Shotgun 101."

Sam snorted. "Yeah. Ellen. Or let Eli stay and do it."

"Nuh uh, you're not keeping the women behind," Eli snapped. "Assholes."

Dean started to say something else but she grabbed his hand. "Look, we don't really have time for _another_ brotherly argument. We're all going. I'll stay with Sam." She looked at the younger Winchester, her face hard. "And don't bitch about it, Mister. You can't expect us to just throw open our arms and trust you again, not after you jump started the mother-fucking apocalypse. Baby steps."

"But…" Sam started, and she fisted her free hand in his button-down shirt, her fingers still wrapped around Dean's, unconsciously connecting the two brothers.

"Baby steps," she growled. He glared at her for a moment, then nodded. She let go of his shirt and Dean's hand and they started up the stairs.

* * *

Sam and Eli crouched in the convenience store, filling up cloth bags with salt. "So how much does she know?" Sam asked quietly. Eli glanced at him.

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that, Sammy."

"Don't call me Sammy," he grumbled. "I mean Ellen. About you."

"You mean the whole Nephilim thing?" she asked, stuffing another container of salt into the mostly full bag. "Nothing. It's not something I exactly advertise. I'm just a hunter, plain and simple." She scoffed. "Just another girl like Jo, in over her head. Ellen's a little too…motherly, when it comes to women. She's told me a thousand times to get out of this business. I've told her to stick it up her ass a thousand and one." Eli tempered her words by smiling fondly, as if this were an inside joke.

Just then there was movement from outside, and the glass doors opened. Eli and Sam glanced at each other, and as one slowly lifted themselves upwards to stare at the intruders.

Eli breathed a sigh of relief. No demons, just two teenage boys with guns in their hands, looking nervous and rifling for food. She wondered where they had come from, why they weren't with the group. Maybe there was another group of survivors, hiding away in some unknown part of the town.

Sam looked at her, then nodded, slowly reaching for his gun. Eli was confused. She put a hand on top of his and shook her head slightly with narrowed eyes, as if to ask _what the hell are you doing?_ He just stared at her, jerking his chin to the two boys.

Suddenly there was a flurry of movement. The boys had noticed them and charged down the aisle, their faces fearful and determined and helplessly, pathetically young. Sam pushed her out of the way and grabbed one of them, throwing him against a shelf.

" _Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus_ —" he muttered, eyes half-closed in concentration. She grabbed his arm, trying to pull him off.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Eli shrieked, just as the boy twisted out of Sam's grasp and pushed him violently away. Sam drew the Knife grimly. "No!" she screamed, crashing into his side and knocking him to the ground. "Sam, they're not demons!"

The boy grabbed her from behind and lifted her off of her feet. She slammed her head back so that her skull collided with his nose, breaking the fragile cartilage and forcing him to drop her, then spun around, knocking his arm to the side and placing two fingers against his forehead. She felt the strangest wavering sensation, as if the air around him was shimmering, like a shiny barrier. Then her light flared briefly and it was gone. The boy looked at her, confused, nose twisted and dripping blood, and dropped his gun.

Sam scrambled to his feet, watching with confusion as she tackled the second boy and pressed her fingers briefly to his forehead. A moment later the strange aura around him dissipated as well, and he looked at her with huge eyes, clearly baffled. He stumbled away from her, grabbing the fallen gun as he went, and then both boys took off down the aisles, running.

Eli turned around, slightly drained, to find Sam staring at her with incredulity. "What the hell was that?" he gasped. She walked up to him, contemplating, her brow wrinkled in concentration.

"They weren't demons," she said matter-of-factly, standing too close and looking up at his face; for a moment, with her squinting eyes and invasion of personal space, she reminded him of Castiel.

"But their eyes were black!" he protested weakly. "I mean, what else would they be?"

"Their eyes weren't black," she murmured, studying him intently. "You just saw it that way. There's something…around you. Something off. It's some kind of …" She tilted her head, thinking hard. "Like a glamour? Here." She reached and touched his forehead. He blinked rapidly, and it was like a fog had been lifted from around his brain, a cloud he hadn't even known was there.

The door chimed; they both jerked nervously, but it was only Dean, bags in his hands, staring at their closeness with worry and curiosity.

"What the hell happened?" he asked. Sam realized that he still had the Knife drawn, and pocketed it, glancing between Eli and his brother.

"Something's wrong here. We have to talk."

* * *

"Where'd you serve?" the young man with the fox-like features, Austin, asked Dean as he placed the expertly dismantled gun on the table. Dean smirked at him coldly.

"Hell."

Austin gave a little laugh. "No, seriously."

"Yeah, seriously," Dean shot back. "Hell."

Around them, the townspeople were busy learning how to make salt rounds and bless water, but the work was subdued and nearly silent, everyone moving like they were in a dream, or a nightmare. The fear was palpable.

The group terror didn't seem to affect Austin, nor did the existence of demons and monsters and hunters. He just shook his head, thankful that he wasn't back in the Middle East, bombs going off in every direction, the heat heavy on his head, sand clogging his nose. At least here there were pretty girls, and the air was cool and sweet. He leaned in, placing his hands flat on the table and speaking in a confidential tone. "So that chick, Eli was it? She's a hunter too, right?"

Dean glanced at her, sitting next to Sam on the other side of the room and talking to him in a hushed voice, her freckled face earnest. "Yeah. Damn good one too, despite all appearances."

"You two, uh, together?" Austin asked. Dean raised his eyebrows, picking the gun back up and loading it.

"No," he scoffed, clicking the shotgun shells into place and checking the sight. "God no."

"Your brother, then?" Austin pushed. Dean glared at him.

"Whole town full of demons, world burning around us, you really think this is a good time for that?" he asked harshly. Austin shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

"Sorry. I just thought…"

"Look," Dean said, staring straight into Austin's eyes with utmost seriousness. "Truth is, she's with someone. And my friend, you do not want to fuck with him. He's kinda big on the smiting."

"Smiting?" Austin repeated, raising an eyebrow, a confused smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

"Just don't go there, okay?" Dean muttered darkly. "Seriously, just …don't."

After a moment of silence Dean set the loaded gun down on the table and walked across the room, dropping down next to Sam and Eli on the floor.

"A glamour, huh?" he asked in way of greeting. "So what is that, exactly?"

"Like a … enchantment, I guess. Wait, that sounds dumb. More like a…group hallucination." She wrapped her arms around her knees, staring into space and biting her thumbnail with a thoughtful frown.

"You mean someone's making these people see demons?" Dean demanded. Ellen walked over, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Seems like it. I just don't know how."

"What I want to know is how you figured this out in the first place," Ellen asked, leaning against the wall and looking down at them. She was fiddling with a handgun anxiously, clicking the safety on and off with her thumb, the noise oddly loud in the near-silent room. "If this is some kind of mass freak-out, how come you weren't taken in as well?"

Eli looked down nervously, threading her fingers through a small tear in the fabric of her dirty cargo pants. "I can see demons," she finally admitted. "For what they really are. Those boys were not demons."

"This the truth?" Ellen asked, addressing Dean and Sam. They nodded, and her eyebrows shot up. "Well doesn't this day just keep getting weirder and weirder."

"Yeah, but the thing I don't get is, you didn't even see their black eyes," Sam said, pushing lank hair out of his eyes and peering at her with what Dean would have called his _bitch face_. Eli looked up at him and shrugged.

"I dunno, but it's like the hallucination just rolled right off." She paused. "There's something else, too. That man, Roger. I don't know what it was, but when I looked at him I felt…wrong. I can't explain it."

"You think he has something to do with this?" Dean asked. She twisted her mouth thoughtfully, tilting her head to the ceiling.

"I really don't know. Maybe. Maybe it was just all the magic in this town making my power go haywire."

"I'm sorry, power?" Ellen asked, crossing her arms, thumb still restlessly clicking the safety of her gun.

They ignored her. "We should talk to this Roger guy," Sam said. Dean scanned the room briefly, his face darkening.

"Good luck doing that. He's gone."

* * *

It finally came about that Ellen, Sam and Eli went into the streets to look for Jo, leaving Dean behind to try and figure out what the hell was going on.

"So what's up with you and Dean?" Ellen finally asked Sam. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then turned away, clearly uncomfortable. "It was hard not to notice, how different things are between you guys these days," she pushed. He didn't answer. "Lot of bad road there, huh? What happened? Some girl come between you or something?" She turned briefly to glare at Eli. "It wasn't you, was it?"

"Oh no. God no," Eli said, unknowingly echoing Dean's words from earlier. She glanced at Sam. "No offense."

"Just…stresses of the job," Sam said, his lie betrayed by the slight nervousness in his voice, and the fact that he was clenching his rifle so tightly his knuckles were white. "You know how it is." He floundered for a moment, trying desperately to change the subject, then remembered his earlier conversation with Eli and blurted out: "Kind of surprised, you and Jo hunting. Weren't you always saying she couldn't hack the life?"

"She can't," Ellen said flatly. "But if she's gonna do it anyway—"

"You want to keep an eye on her," Sam said, nodding.

"And what about you, kid?" Ellen asked Eli. "What's up with this 'I can see demons' mojo?"

Eli opened her mouth, but was saved by Sam stopping abruptly and whispering, "Hey."

Down the street, smoke was rising from a chimney. After a silent conversation of shrugs and significant gestures the three hunters approached stealthily, crouching behind scraggly bushes to peer up at the house. A man was visible through the upstairs window, a gun in his hand, his face grim.

"You're telling me that man is not a demon?" Ellen hissed to Eli. "His eyes are as black as night."

"No, they're not," Eli and Sam said at the same time. Eli pressed her fingers to a startled Ellen's forehead, feeling the glamour spark and hiss briefly against her power. Then it was gone. She removed her hand and nodded toward the house. "Look now."

Ellen's mouth dropped open at the sight of the normal man still lingering at the window. "I'll be damned," she muttered.

"We gotta let these people know what's going on," Sam whispered, and they nodded, all fiery determination and righteousness, like nothing could stop them.

They never even made it to the front porch.

Someone grabbed Ellen from behind, throwing her to the ground. Sam moved to help her but another man with a gun got in his way; Sam wrenched the rifle from his grip and they grappled fiercely, nearly falling to their knees in the fight. Rufus slammed into Eli and backed her into the side of the house, gun held up across her throat, choking her.

"It's an illusion!" she gasped, trying to reach his forehead, the world around her going hazy and dark. "Listen to me, it's not real!"

With the last of her strength Eli managed to push him off. She staggered toward him, hands outstretched, but he grabbed her wrist and twisted it, causing her to yelp in pain. "Don't even think about it, demon bitch," he growled. Next to her, Sam was already on the ground, his face bloody, eyes closed as if sleeping. Ellen was gone.

Something struck Eli on the back of the head, and the world spun quickly into darkness. She slumped to the ground in a heap, her head lolling next to Sam's unconscious form.

* * *

Eli awoke to the sound of soft voices. Her head throbbed, the dim light in the room too bright to bear. She blinked weakly, wincing at the sharp pain at the back of her skull, and tried to move her arms, only to find that they were bound to a chair.

"I know her!" Jo was insisting quietly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She looked as she always did: sweet, fragile. Breakable. "She's a hunter. Used to come to the Roadhouse all the time before it burned down."

"Eli Grant, huh?" Rufus muttered, his dark brow crinkling. "I've heard the name. She's Bobby's protégé. Guess we'll have to try extra hard to get that demon out without killin' her, or there'll be hell to pay." He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze stony. "She's awake."

Eli concentrated hard, feeling her weakened powers slowly heal the cut on the back of her head. The pain cleared, leaving only a lingering headache. She blinked rapidly, looking around for the first time. She was in a child's bedroom, the bed pushed up into a corner, the walls festooned with Mickey Mouse and brightly painted flowers. In a circle around her body was a hastily constructed devil's trap. In the dim light the whole scene was unbelievably eerie, the shadows turning everything grey and flat. Eli wondered what had happened to the child.

Rufus moved toward her and splashed holy water on her face, muttering an exorcism in Latin. Eli shook herself off like a dog, bits of water flying from the tips of her braids, and glared at him.

"I am not a demon," she insisted grimly. "Listen to me, both of you. This is all an illusion. I know you think my eyes are black right now, but…"

She was cut off by Jo pulling her hair back and Rufus roughly pouring salt down her throat. She gagged, the crystals like tiny scratchy fingernails on her larynx, and tried hard not to throw up. After a moment Rufus shook his head, sharing a look with Jo. "It's not working," he muttered. "Just like with Sam."

"That's because we're not demons, jackass!" she snapped hoarsely, spitting out salt. "Think about it. Sam has an anti-possession tattoo. I know you don't know me, but believe me, I can't even _be_ possessed. So open your fucking eyes and see the truth here!"

"We'll have to find some other way of getting this thing out," Jo was saying. Rufus nodded, scowling at Eli.

"Yeah, this bitch is strong. Come on, let's get out of here. We don't need to listen to any more of her filthy lies."

They started to leave the room. "No!" Eli begged. "Listen, just untie one hand, just one, I can show you, I can break the illusion, please!"

They slammed the door behind them.

Eli sagged in the chair, tears welling in her eyes, the taste of salt still burning in her throat. She tugged uselessly at her bonds, contemplating how hard she would have to throw herself to the floor to possibly break the chair arms, and whether doing so would snap her already injured wrist. Outside she could hear yells, and gunshots, barricades being hammered, a door creaking open on rusty hinges…

Eli's head jerked up. The unassuming man from the church had poked his head through the door, looking uncommonly chipper. "Why, hello! Mind if I speak with you for a minute?" He smiled as he walked into the room, pulling up a chair as he did so. "Well, not that you have any choice. Am I right?" He winked at her.

She winced, feeling that same odd hum vibrate through her head. He looked as he did before: somewhat stilted and blurry, like looking at a photograph someone had spilled water on.

"What are you?" she asked, lowering her eyes and turning away. It hurt to look at him.

"Just your friendly neighborhood Horseman," he said perkily. "End of times and all, and I'm finally riding again."

"Nice to know we're all fucked," she bit out grimly. "Why are you here? And please, don't say it's to taunt me. I've had enough of demons taunting me."

"I'm not a demon," he corrected her, sounding mildly insulted. "I'm not anything you've seen before. I don't really have a shape, except for the one I take. You probably see that right? Maybe I'm a little…"

"Blurry," she finished, squinting at him.

He smiled. "Exactly. And I'm here because I wanted to see _you_ , Elijah." She raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Oh, I know who you are. Well, I guess I should say, _what_ you are. It's not every day someone can see through my illusions, let alone dispel them. You're quite the creature."

"You know, you want to compliment someone, you can start by not calling them _creature_ ," she shot back. He grinned wolfishly.

"Oh, I like you. In fact, I like you so much I'm gonna tell you a little secret." He scooted his chair closer and leaned forward, his voice dropping. "It's not going to be me," he said seriously.

She blinked, nonplussed. "What?"

"I know, everything thinks, oh War, right, going to turn people against each other, ravage the land. And I'll help, really, it'll be great fun. But the one who'll really pull out the big guns on the apocalypse won't be me."

She waited for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine, I'll bite. Who will it be?"

He smiled secretively. "You, Elijah. You're the weapon. You're going to destroy them all."

She stared at him, a little afraid, but quickly converted the fear into anger. "What the hell are you talking about?" she growled, straining at her bonds. He smiled.

"I can see it starting already. All the violence in your head. That desire to kill. So graphic. Must come from warrior Daddy. Tell me what you're thinking now. Don't be shy, I can already see it."

Her hands began to glow, lightly. "I'm thinking that I'd like to rip your still-beating heart out of your chest," she hissed. War laughed and clapped his hands in delight.

"Ooo, I like it. Creative violence. Just the kind of thinking we need. You'll make a very good monster, Elijah. We're gonna need a leader like you."

"I am not leading anything!" she shouted. "I am a Nephilim, for God's sake! I am not evil!"

"Why do you think they keep calling you Abomination?" War gave her a pitying look. "You think it's just because angel Daddy screwed mommy and got her preggers? Guess again, sweetheart. 'Cause underneath it all, you're one of us."

"You son of a bitch!" Eli began to struggle more fiercely, her whole body glowing like a star. War winked and blew her a kiss.

"See you soon," he promised, disappearing from the room.

"No! Get back here! Explain yourself!" The bonds at her wrists and ankles snapped off, burned by her fury. "I will kill you my—"

Rufus entered the room, drawn by her screams. He took one look at her, shining a brilliant gold, ropes busted and flaming, and twisted his face in determination.

"Oh no you don't!" he shouted, bringing the butt of his rifle against her head. Eli stumbled, trying to stay upright, but he brought it down again, and again. She fell to her knees, her glow extinguished, barely conscious. He hit her again. There was the cracking of bone. Her skin split like a melon, blood and grey matter splashing on the floor in a sticky mess. He hit her again. And again. One more time, and she was gone.


	3. The Rumors Of My Death (Have Been Greatly Exaggerated)

 

 

After a lot of running, fighting, yelling, a bloody lip, a black eye, and three near-death experiences, Dean and Ellen finally made it to the house, wrestled Rufus and Jo to the ground, and convinced them that they were not demons.

Unfortunately, no one else was willing to listen. The _rat tat tat_ of bullets filled the air; rigged bombs at the windows exploded, sending body parts of unfortunate trespassers flying in wet, messy chunks.

"Where's Sam!" Dean shouted, nearly throwing himself to the living room carpet as gunfire rained over the house.

"Upstairs," Rufus told him, crouching by the staircase, his rifle held in a white-knuckled grip. Pounding started at the barricaded front door, like someone was thrusting a tree-trunk against it. The wood buckled, but held.

Dean nodded. "Great. Where's Eli?" Rufus looked down, refusing to meet Dean's eyes. "What?" Dean asked, feeling a tendril of fear wind through his stomach at the older hunter's guilty look. "Rufus, where's Eli?"

"She's upstairs, too," he said in a low voice. There was a lull in the racket around them, and the house fell into eerie silence.

"Great, so what's the problem?"

Rufus finally looked at him, his eyes sad. "Dean, I'm sorry…"

"What?" Dean demanded. "Dude, you're scaring me."

"You gotta understand, she was glowing, I thought she was some kind of super powerful demon. I beat her…I beat her pretty bad." He stopped, swallowing harshly. "She's dead."

Dean's face drained of blood. "Oh no," he muttered, taking his gun and mounting the stairs three at a time just as the gunfire started up again, bullets peppering the walls around him. "Oh no no no…."

He reached the upper level and threw the bedroom door open. Eli lay there in a crumpled heap, her braided pigtails stained thickly with blood, the back of her skull clearly smashed. "Aw, fuck, Eli, no, _no_." He rushed to her side, laying down his gun, and turned her over so that her bloody face was visible. Her head rolled limply on her neck. He knew it was useless but he shook her anyway, feeling how boneless her muscles were, the stillness inside of her ribcage. "Eli, wake up, come on, wake up!"

The gunfire outside became louder, coming closer to the house. He couldn't wait anymore. Dean stood, staring down at her body with a sick feeling in his stomach. "I'll come back for you," he promised her, then left the room to go find Sam.

* * *

The Knife sliced off War's fingers with far more ease than it should have, like it was cutting through soft butter. The moment the severed digits fell to the ground the streets went silent, all gunfire ceasing as the remaining glamour disappeared from everyone's minds and sanity returned. Unfortunately for the once-idyllic town, the damage had already been done.

When Dean and Sam returned to the house, the bloody ring tucked safely in Dean's pocket, they found that someone had moved Eli to the living room couch. She lay there like a broken doll, mouth slightly open, skin under all of the blood an ash grey. Ellen was leaning over her, tilting her battered head and probing gently at the back of her skull.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded, throwing his gun on the ground. Ellen looked up, her hands covered in slick blood.

"Come here," she ordered. Dean and Sam shared a look, then crossed to the couch, kneeling next to the body. Without preamble Ellen grabbed Dean's hand and placed it on the back of Eli's head. "Feel that?" she asked, moving it around a little.

Dean wanted to vomit. "Yeah, that's her bloody skull. Still warm, too." He started to pull his hand away but Ellen held it there.

"No, you idiot. Pay attention. What do you feel?"

Dean frowned in confusion, still feeling slightly nauseated. "Blood, hair, skin. What?"

"No wound," Ellen said sharply. "Not even a scratch. Just blood. It's like she wasn't even beaten."

Just then, Eli took a huge, gasping breath, sitting straight up, color flooding back into her face.

"Holy shit!" Dean exclaimed, jumping back and stumbling over Sam, so that they both fell in a heap on the filthy, bullet-ridden carpet.

She stared through them, her eyes wild. "I'm not going to!" she yelped. "I'm not going! I'm not-" She stopped in mid-sentence, eyes rolling in her head, and slumped down on the couch again. Dean stood up, brushed off his leather jacket with shaking hands, and tried very hard to sound nonchalant.

"Well at least she's alive."

* * *

On a cool, windy day that smelled of rain and earth, Sam decided to leave. He had finally confessed to them that he had been having dreams, strange, vivid dreams of floating in a sea of blood. But the thing was, he had said, staring into the distance with a pensive, brooding look on his face, was that it wasn't a nightmare. It was a _good_ dream. All the demon blood he could drink, thick and viscous and sweet, and when it was over he always woke up with a panting, dry-mouthed need for liquid.

That was enough for Dean. He shipped Sam off with little more than a few curt words and a brief, manly hug. When they were done saying their goodbyes Dean strode away without a backward glance, his shoulders hunched against a nonexistent wind, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, eyes haunted and pained. Sam waited a few moments, watching his brother's retreating figure with a blank look on his face, then took a deep breath and approached Eli.

"Just… take care of him, okay?" Sam said, hugging her awkwardly. She stood on her tip-toes to hug him back, then pulled away and smiled bravely, trying to shake off the inherent sense of wrongness that flooded through her at the thought of him leaving.

"You just care of yourself, jerk," she mumbled, sniffling a little. He nodded.

"Be seeing you, Eli," he said, squeezing her shoulder with his hand. He turned and walked toward the road, his pace dragging, as if his feet were held down by weights. She watched silently as he hailed a passing truck and climbed into it.

"Be seeing you, Sam," she finally whispered, pulling her jacket tighter around herself and walking toward Dean and the Impala.

That was three weeks ago. Eli finally got to sit in the front seat of the car, but the rides were mostly silent, like there was a barrier between them. The ghost of Sam's presence loomed large in the Impala, a Sam-shaped hole carved out of their lives. There seemed to be an unspoken decision not to talk about what had happened to Eli back in Colorado, and this inability to talk about her near-death – or death-death – experience was just one more reason why conversation was stifled. That and Dean was grumpier than ever, prone to responding to her attempts at friendliness with grunts and mumbles.

Finally he broke.

"Okay, out with it," he snapped, sitting on the motel room bed one night and kicking off his mud-encrusted boots. The two hunters had just returned from staking a nest of vampires and he still had blood on his face, droplets sprayed across his forehead like red paint.

"Out with what?" Eli asked, wrinkling her nose at her bloody shirt, her own boots already lying unlaced on the floor. She rummaged in her duffel back, coming up with a black tank top.

"What happened in Colorado. I've been biting my tongue on this for weeks, Eli, just wracking my brain for an explanation, and I can't figure it out."

"What's there to talk about?" she said coldly, unwinding her hair from its bun and shaking it out.

"Well for starters, how about how Rufus bashed your skull in with the butt of his gun and then you woke up without a scratch on you."

She shrugged, studiously keeping her back turned. "I do have healing powers."

"Yeah, piss ass healing powers," he grumbled, getting up and walking to the bathroom. "You can barely heal a scrape on a good day. How on earth could you come back from your brains being splattered on the floor?"

Eli scowled. She did not want to talk about this with him. Every time she thought about what had happened she just saw War's sneering face telling her that she was going to destroy them all. Healing so miraculously just seemed to prove his words.

"I don't know, okay?" she finally snapped, turning to make sure he was safely in the bathroom before stripping off her bloody shirt and dropping it to the floor. "I don't know how it happened. Let's just be thankful it did and call it a day."

"God!" Dean exclaimed from the bathroom. Eli pulled off her jeans and slipped into her pajama bottoms. "Don't do that!"

"Not exactly the reaction I was thinking of…" she muttered, just as the door flew open and out marched Dean, followed by a sheepish Castiel.

"Look who's popped in to say hi," Dean bit out sarcastically.

"Cas!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up. He just stared, flickering his gaze between her and Dean with a frown on his face. Eli suddenly realized she was only in her bra. "Oh shit," she gasped, grabbing her tank top and throwing it on while Dean smiled appreciatively. "Don't say a word," she growled, pointing a finger at him. He held up his hands, all innocence.

"Wasn't going to." He turned to Castiel. "How'd you find us, anyway? I thought we were flying below the angel radar."

Castiel was still staring at Dean suspiciously, but finally dropped his shoulders and nodded. "You are. Bobby told me where you were." He stepped closer to Eli, his voice suddenly concerned. "I heard what happened in Colorado. I know War was there. Are you okay?"

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself, a little confused and nervous. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Did he say anything to you?" Castiel asked, furrowing his brow, his face intense.

Eli hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. "No, nothing."

Castiel nodded absently as if he didn't quite believe her and raised his head to scan the motel room, which had just two beds and no futon. "Where's Sam?"

Dean walked over to the window, carefully not looking at the angel. "Me and Sam are taking separate vacations for a while," he said gruffly. "So…"

"It's just you and Elijah?" Castiel asked, slipping his hands in the pockets of his trench coat and tipping his head contemplatively. Dean turned, the hint of a grin playing on his lips.

"What's the problem, Cas? Jealous? Think I might be staking out your territory?"

"Dean, stop." Eli sighed, rubbing her temples. "God, you're such an ass sometimes."

Castiel just stood there looking uncomfortable and vaguely shamefaced. Dean glanced at him. "Speaking of God, you find Him yet? More importantly, can I have my damn necklace back, please?"

Castiel sighed. "No, I haven't found him. That's why I'm here. I need your help."

"With what?" Dean asked skeptically, sitting down on the bed and busying himself with removing his socks. "God hunt? Not interested."

"It's not God," Castiel said slowly, with the air of someone about to impart very bad news. "It's someone else."

"Who?" Eli asked, coming to stand close to him.

He looked her in the eyes, his voice carefully flat and even. "An Archangel. The one who killed me."

Her face paled in shock and her stomach writhed like she had been punched in the gut. Dean just raised his eyebrows, assuming he hadn't heard correctly. "Excuse me?"

"His name is Raphael," Castiel said, tearing his gaze from Eli to look at Dean, who snorted in disbelief.

"You were wasted by a teenage mutant ninja angel?"

"I've heard whispers that he's walking the earth. This is a rare opportunity." Castiel's tone was low and insistent, blatantly ignoring Dean's snarky remark.

"Why?" Eli asked quietly, hating that her voice shook a little, but the image of Chuck holding a bloody molar had resurfaced in her head and nothing would block it out. She remembered that feeling, that empty, empty feeling of a world without the warmth of his light, and it was like a yawning hole that reached out with smoky tendrils, desperate to pull her back in. "Why would you want to go near the thing that killed you?"

"Information," he said shortly, then took a step closer to her, brushing her shoulder with his fingers. "This is important, Elijah." She nodded, not really believing him, but leaned into his touch anyway, the warmth of his skin like a lifeline reassuring her that he was really still alive.

Dean stood and turned away from them, feeling awkward at the display of affection. He took his knife to the sink and started to wash it, fingernails digging out congealed blood from the edges of the metal. "So, what, you think you can find this dude and he's just gonna spill God's address?"

Castiel pulled away from her. "Yes, because we are going to trap him and interrogate him."

"Okay, now I know you're crazy," Eli said sharply. She stood with her hands on her hips, bare toes curling into the old motel carpet. "Interrogate an Archangel? Do you have a death wish?"

"You don't have to come," Castiel said, his eyes very piercing and blue, like he was x-raying her face. "In fact, you should stay here. Dean will be safe, he is Michael's vessel and no one will dare harm him."

"And you?" she asked. He dropped his gaze to the floor. "Uh uh, no way, if we're doing this, I'm coming, you hear me?" She stepped forward and grasped the sleeve of his trench coat in her fingers. "I'm not losing you again," she said seriously. "If this is something you have to do, I'll back you, but I am not losing you again."

Castiel nodded solemnly. He brushed a stray hair from her eyes, looking very much like he wanted to kiss her, but hesitated because Dean was in the room. "We should go now."

"Wait a minute, I haven't even said yes to this whole crazy idea," Dean protested, wiping his knife with a clean towel and re-sheathing it.

"Dean!" Eli barked. "Asshole. Stop being one. We're going."

"Thank you," Castiel said quietly. She smiled a little, wrapping her hand around the top of his arm and rubbing it. He closed his eyes halfway, smiling slightly, like a cat getting its stomach stroked. Eli halfway expected him to start purring.

"Okay, break it up," Dean snapped, striding toward them, and they pulled away guiltily. "I'll go on your little suicide mission if you promise not to get too lovey-dovey. It's freaking me out. It's like…seeing your sister with your best friend. Just weird."

"Deal," Eli said immediately. "So where are we going?"

"Maine," Castiel said, moving to place a hand on each of their foreheads. "Let's go."

"Whoa," Dean said, flinching away, at the exact same time that Eli jumped backward and shrieked: "Stop!"

Castiel looked between the two of them, confused. "What?"

"Last time you zapped me someplace I didn't poop for a week," Dean growled, hands splayed out if front of him as if physically stop the angel from approaching.

"And I'm barefoot in my jim-jams," Eli pointed out. "By the way, TMI, Dean."

"Yeah, well, you say jim-jams," he shot back, then looked at Castiel. "Sorry, man. We're driving."

* * *

Castiel accompanying Dean and Eli to the police station and posing as an FBI agent, was not, in retrospect, the best of ideas. The lie would have run smoothly with just Dean and Eli, poised and professional in suits and well-practiced personas; it would have even succeeded, however bizarrely, with Dean and Castiel, because Dean had the amazing ability to stay straight-faced and gruff despite Castiel's strange behavior.

Eli did not have that talent.

The giggles started when Castiel first fumbled with the fake ID. Dean shot her a glare and she managed to swallow them down, but they resurfaced during the conversation in the sheriff's office, when Castiel kept blithely insisting that the skirmishes were the result of warring angels and demons. She tried desperately to keep from laughing, but the resulting attempt caused her to make a sound not unlike a cat hacking up a hairball. Finally, tears streaming from her eyes, she gasped out that she was ill and needed to leave, before bolting out the door and into the parking lot, where she pressed her palms against the Impala's hood and laughed until she couldn't breathe.

"Well, you were no help," Dean snapped when they finally emerged from the building. Eli was leaning against the side of the car, still wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "You know, if we had gotten arrested for impersonating an FBI agent, I would have blamed you."

Castiel shifted awkwardly on his feet. "She was only laughing because of me," he pointed out. "Though I fail to see what about my behavior was so amusing."

Eli shook her head and approached him. "No apology necessary. You—" She paused to grab his tie and pull him in for a quick kiss, "are wonderful."

Castiel smiled, a little dazed, while Dean just rolled his eyes.

"Ok, kids, break it up. Remember our promise. Nothing mushy." He opened the car door and motioned for them to get in. "Next stop, Saint Pete's."

The visit to the hospital was strangely sobering. The vessel was an empty, drooling shell of a man, a bleak look into the possible future for Dean. It caused Eli to ponder why her father hadn't been so affected after Michael possessed him, but before she could ask Castiel he vanished. That left the two hunters to find an abandoned house to hole up in for the night, a stark building with rotting floorboards and every surface coated in a thick layer of dust.

"So what's it like?" Dean asked a few hours later. Eli glanced at him from her spot by the window; he was pacing, flipping idly though his father's journal, his boots clunking heavily on the sagging wooden floor. She raised an eyebrow.

"What's what like?"

He gave her a sly grin. "Angel sex."

Just then Castiel appeared, holding an earthenware jar. "Speak of the devil," Dean said, slamming the journal closed and dropping it onto the table. Eli let out a small groan and buried her face in her hands. Castiel looked confused.

"I am not the devil," he said flatly. "What were you two talking about?"

"Nothing!" Eli said in a loud voice, lifting her face out of her palms. She dropped the sound a couple decibels. "Where were you?"

He placed the jar on the table; bits of clay dust flaked off of it, like it was close to falling apart. "Jerusalem."

"Oh, how was it?" Dean asked in a peppy voice. Castiel shot him a look, uncertain if he was being mocked.

"Arid," he said shortly.

"What is that?" Eli asked, walking to the table. She squatted by it, examining the ancient markings with tentative fingers.

"It's oil," Castiel rasped. "It's very special. Very rare."

"Okay, so we trap Raphael with a nice vinaigrette?" Dean asked, a bit derisively. Castiel walked over to stand by Eli as she got up from the floor, covering her hand lightly with his.

"No," he said in a tired voice. She squeezed his hand a little, glad that it was blocked from Dean's vision by the jug and their bodies.

"So this ritual of yours, when's it got to go down?" Dean demanded, starting to pace again. Castiel turned to look at him, still not dropping Eli's hand. Outside, the sun was setting, throwing red light across the bare, dirty room and illuminating the motes of dust that floated in the air.

"Sunrise."

"Tell me something," Dean asked, walking up to them. He paused for a moment, eyeing their joined hands, then shook himself out of it. "Weird. Always weird. Anyway. You keep saying we're gonna trap this guy. Isn't that kinda like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?"

"No, it's harder," Castiel said without any hint of irony.

"So do we have any chance of surviving this?"

Castiel hesitated, looking first at Eli, then back at him. "You do. And I have a feeling that Elijah does as well, considering that they seemed to have some sort of vested interest in her."

"So odds are you're a dead man tomorrow," Dean said flatly. Eli's hand gripped Castiel's with sudden tightness. He swallowed, then looked down and nodded.

"Yes."

Dean clapped his hands together, glancing at the sun, which had mostly disappeared, leaving only a smudge of burgundy on the horizon. "Well. Last night on earth. What are your plans?"

There was silence. Dean turned. Castiel and Eli were gone. His shoulders fell.

"Should've seen that coming." He sighed. "Looks like it's solo beer and hookers for me."

* * *

Eli slid off of him, pushing sweaty hair back from her flushed face, breathing heavily. "You're getting better at this," she informed him. Castiel pulled her closer, wrapping his arms tightly around her back.

"I know," he murmured, kissing her.

They were in some kind of hotel room; Eli wasn't sure what it looked like. She hadn't really looked around at all. Truthfully, they hadn't even turned on the lights. She did know that it was tall, and that they were on an upper floor, moonlight spilling in through big windows overlooking some city. They could be anywhere in the world. Frankly, she didn't care.

She pulled away just to lean in and place a soft kiss at the tender place where his jaw met his neck. He hummed a little, and she let out a very gentle laugh.

"What?" he asked, the smile evident in his voice. She kissed that spot again, trying to elicit the same reaction.

"I knew you purred," she murmured into his neck. He laughed quietly, his face buried in her hair. She liked his laugh: it was throaty and soft, and made her think of the way he smiled, on the rare occasions he smiled, white teeth and crinkling around the eyes.

She leaned her cheek against his shoulder, breathing in his warm skin smell. "You're pretty chipper for someone who thinks they'll die tomorrow," she said, with a bit of weariness. Castiel pulled away to look at her in the dark.

"This must be done, Eli. We must find God."

"I know, I know." She kissed his chin reassuringly, feeling his all-too human stubble. "And for what it's worth, you're not going to die."

He nuzzled her gently, hands running along her back, feet tangled in hers, as if trying to memorize the experience. "What makes you say that?"

"Well," she started slowly, feeling his heart thump against her chest. "First, I have faith."

He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "In?"

"God," she said simply. "Fate. Our ability to get out of the most ridiculous of situations. We, all of us – you, me, Sam, Dean – have died at least once. And yet here we are." She shook her head, her hair moon-bright in the dark room. "This isn't over. We're not at the end yet. You're not going anywhere."

"Hm," he said, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I never knew you had faith."

"I'm a half-angel sleeping with a rebel-angel," she joked. "Of course I have faith."

"That's not faith, that's fact," he clarified. "Faith is belief in what you can't see, in the uncertain future. Faith is…difficult."

"Yes, it is," Eli said in a quiet voice.

"What's the second reason?" He kissed her shoulder lightly.

"Hmm?" She ran her hands through his dark hair and he sighed in pleasure.

"The second reason you don't think I will die in the morning."

"Oh." She shifted slightly, pressing her forehead against his, looking him in the eye from two inches away, and spoke with the utmost seriousness. "Because I won't let you."

"I don't think you'll have much of a –" Castiel started, but fell silent when her mouth pressed to his. He pulled her tight to his body, hands flat against her back, and buried himself in her warmth and light until he could no longer think.

* * *

The next day was spent lounging in a hospital room, playing card games and drinking, waiting for an Archangel that never showed up.

"Well, that's a day I'll never get back," Dean announced morosely as they got out of the car back at the abandoned house. Eli hugged her arms around herself as they ascended the steps, feeling a chill in the air.

They entered the house in silence. Eli felt something in the dark, like a stray electrical charge, lift the fine hair on her arms. "Guys…" she started nervously.

Castiel gripped Dean's shirt. "Dean, wait."

A blast of white light flared in the room. In the center of it was the man from the hospital, but now he was no longer a drooling mess: he was tall, powerful, wings of electricity arcing for one moment from his back. The bulbs shattered in the room, leaving only the light of his aura and the crackles of energy that still roared around him.

Eli winced, throwing up her hands. That bone-rattling, falling apart feeling was back, the one she always got around Archangels. It rang in her head, only slightly contained by the fact that the angel was confined in a human body.

"Castiel," he rumbled, in a voice that boomed in her ears. Castiel stared at him, his face betraying no fear.

"Raphael."

The three of them walked closer, Eli's hand pressed to the side of her head. She could see the light radiating from him, a light that Dean couldn't see, like the human vessel was too small to contain his power.

"And I thought you were supposed to be impressive," Dean said flippantly. "All you do is black out the room."

Raphael chuckled darkly, his words perfectly punctuated by flashes of lightning outside. "And the Eastern Seaboard." He paused, allowing them to soak in this information. "It is a testament to my unending mercy that I do not smite you here and now."

Dean took a step forward, all toughness with his leather jacket and a smirk on his lips, but Eli could see that his hands were shaking. "Or maybe you're full of crap. Maybe you're afraid God will bring Cas back to life again and smite you and your candy-ass skirt. By the way, hi, I'm Dean." He gave a little wave.

"I know who you are." There was something deeply intimidating about the Archangel's rolling, thunderous tones. "And now, thanks to him, I know where you are."

"You won't kill him," Castiel rasped. "You wouldn't dare."

Raphael smiled, teeth shining too-white in the darkness. "But I will take him to Michael." His gaze shifted to Eli. "And I'll take the Nephilim too. She's far too dangerous to be running around on earth unrestrained."

"Well then," Dean said, putting on his full swagger as he turned to grab a beer from the cooler. "Sounds terrifying. It does. But, uh, hate to tell you, we're not going anywhere with you." He cracked it open and took a drink.

"Surely you remember Zachariah giving you stomach cancer?" Raphael boomed. Dean's eyes closed briefly. He took a deep breath, then opened them, trying to regain his bravado. He swung around, taking another long drink.

"Yeah, that was hilarious."

Raphael smirked and began to walk slowly closer, the air around him crackling with energy and unimaginable power. "Well, he doesn't have anything close to my imagination."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, sounding braver than he felt. "I bet you didn't imagine one thing."

"What?" Raphael asked scornfully, taking one more step forward. Dean reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his lighter, flicking it so that a weak flame glowed warm in the dark room.

"We knew you were coming, you stupid son of a bitch."

He tossed the lighter onto the floor, where it ignited a circle of fire around the Archangel. Raphael's glower was so fierce that Dean stumbled backward a little, pointing at Castiel.

"Don't look at me, it was his idea."

Eli stepped back from them, holding her head between her hands. The ringing was getting worse. She dimly heard them discussing God, how he was no longer in heaven, possibly dead. At that point, she honestly didn't care. She felt sick, stomach roiling and heaving. She started to shake, bones on fire, skin like ice. Sweat dripped down her forehead and into her eyes, mixing with the rain that beat down on them when the windows shattered inward.

Castiel's voice rose above the sound of the wind and her own chattering teeth. "If God is dead, why have I returned? Who brought me back?"

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lucifer raised you?" Raphael asked, and Eli's head jerked up.

"No," Castiel insisted in a low, disbelieving voice.

"Think about it." Raphael's tone was almost taunting, trampling on Castiel's already precarious sense of belief. Eli was suddenly and forcefully reminded of the fact that this was the angel who killed him. Her hands clenched into fists, anger pushing the shakes and the nausea back. "He needs all the rebellious angels he can find. You know it adds up."

Castiel turned away from him. "Let's go," he muttered darkly.

"Wait," Eli said, stepping to the front, chin held high. Water ran down her face, her hair soaked and sticking to her head in messy tendrils. Raphael smiled coldly at her.

"Not feeling so well, are we, little Nephilim?" he asked.

She glared at him. "Why does this keep happening to me?" she asked. "Why do I feel this way in the presence of an Archangel?"

"Because," he said smugly, a strong sense of danger in his voice. "We are made to kill you."

She took a step back, nearly stumbling over broken glass. Wind howled furiously through the empty panes where the windows used to be. "What?"

"Stay too long in an Archangel's presence, and you will disintegrate into nothingness. You can feel it even now, even with me in this body: the shaking, the desire to fall apart. I'd say at this point you are holding yourself together by sheer will alone."

Eli gasped, leaning forward, her trembling hands clutching her stomach. Castiel rushed to her side, holding her upright. Raphael watched this with sneering interest.

"Ah, of course. I nearly forgot. You have fallen quite far, haven't you, Castiel?" he asked in a lofty voice. Castiel glared daggers at him.

"What are you doing to her?"

"Only what I was built to do," he said. "You should leave. Now is not the time for her to die. Not until we have what we need."

"And what's that?" Dean yelled over the howling wind, coming over to hold Eli from the other side. Her legs were giving out, and she half-collapsed in their arms.

"You should really know by now," Raphael taunted. "What Lucifer has. Bad form, Winchester, letting your brother just hand it over like that."

"The collar," Castiel said grimly. "What does it do?"

"You know what it does, Castiel." He smiled eerily. Eli sagged in their arms. "Now get the Abomination out of my sight before she flies into a million pieces."

"Fine." Castiel nodded to Dean and they turned, supporting Eli between them.

"Wait," Raphael's voice echoed loudly throughout the house. Castiel let Dean shoulder Eli's weight and turned to the trapped Archangel. "Castiel, I'm warning you," Raphael intoned. "Do not leave me here. I will find you."

Castiel took a step closer to the circle of fire, water shining in his eyelashes and running down the bridge of his nose. "Maybe one day," he called. "But today, you're my little bitch."

At the doorway, a still-shaking Eli pulled grabbed Dean's shirt and pulled his ear to her mouth. "That," she gasped out, "was so hot."

"Oh for the love of…" Dean started, then shook his head and dragged her out the door, Castiel following closely behind.


	4. (Welcome To) The End

 

"I'm telling you, Cas, the mooks have melted down the gun by now." Dean shifted the cell phone to his other ear as he peered out the motel window onto the dark street. Outside, he could still see the preacher fervently praying, his bushy beard fluffing around his face like some kind of weird, skinny, religious lumberjack.

 _"Well, I hear differently,"_ Castiel said, raising his voice over the rush of cars on the highway. _"And if it's true and if you are still set on the insane task of killing the devil, this is how we do it."_

"Okay," Dean finally agreed, sinking onto the bed. "Where do we start?"

_"Where are you now?"_

Dean stretched out across the mattress, grabbing the motel room keys from the bedside table. "Kansas City. Century Hotel, room 113."

 _"I'll be there immediately,"_ Castiel said, and started to hang up. Dean stopped him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. No, no, come on, man. I just drove like sixteen hours straight, okay? I'm human. And there's stuff I got to do."

" _What stuff?"_ the angel asked suspiciously.

"Eat, for example. In this case, sleep. I just need like four hours once in a while, okay?" Dean's voice took on a pleading tone. He could almost hear Castiel's solemn nod on the other end.

_"Yes."_

"Look, Eli's down at the bar on the corner. Why don't you go spend some quality time with the Missus and pop in tomorrow morning."

 _"All right."_ The angel sounded pleased. _"I'll just –"_

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, hanging up and instantly falling asleep.

* * *

The rest of the day was, to put it lightly, a nightmare.

Dean awoke to the lovely sight of a post-apocalyptic city. The smell of burning tires lay heavily in the air. The streets were deathly silent, power lines downed, cars smashed and flaming. Glass crunched under his boots. The people were rabid, like something out of a zombie movie, moving in packs, hunting, screaming, calling for blood. On nearly every available surface the word _Croatoan_ was scrawled.

He got a surprise visit from Zachariah in the car. He made his way to Bobby's house, but only found a bloody wheelchair, two bullet holes ripped through the back, and a photograph: Bobby in the chair, Eli with short, dyed brown hair sticking up around her face, and Castiel, who was dressed in oddly casual clothing, all with guns, standing before a sign that read Camp Chitaqua.

And then things got weird.

* * *

Dean stood in the doorway of a cabin, peering through a beaded curtain as Castiel, barefoot and unshaven, sat cross-legged with a bevy of beautiful women and preached something vaguely new-agey to them. Dean's eyebrows shot up at the word 'orgy.' He cast his gaze around, but Eli was nowhere to be seen.

"What are you, a hippie?" Dean demanded as the women filed out of the room. Castiel stretched leisurely, his bones cracking, and laughed a little, a strange, hollow laugh.

"I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me."

Dean stepped into the room, his voice low and urgent. "Cas, we gotta talk."

Castiel finally turned around, letting Dean see just how bizarre he looked. His dark hair was a little too long, falling messily into his eyes; he looked unwashed, with scraggly stubble, his skin paper-thin and somehow older. His eyes were hazy.

"Woah," he said, staring at Dean with confusion. "Strange."

"What?" Dean demanded, still studying the angel with interest.

"You...are not you. Not now you, anyway." Castiel shook his head as if to clear it, his hair curling slightly around his ears.

"No! Yeah. Yes, exactly," Dean said, excited that someone could see it. Castiel cocked his head, watching his face intently.

"What year are you from?" he asked.

"2009."

"Who did this to you?" Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Is it Zachariah?" Dean nodded in confirmation. Castiel stroked his fledging beard. "Interesting."

"Oh, yeah, it's fuckin' fascinating," Dean said impatiently. He clapped his hands together, desperate to get back home and out of this nightmarish future. "Now. Why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?"

Castiel tilted his head back and laughed strangely, his eyes squeezed shut. "I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I'm sorry, no dice." He giggled again, his fingers twitching restlessly at his sides. Dean stared at him, incredulous.

"What, are you stoned?"

Castiel shrugged lazily, looking more and more like a hippie every second. "Uh, generally, yeah."

"What happened to you?" Dean noticed a silver chain around the angel's neck, two battered gold rings dangling from it. "And what's with the horde of women? Where's Eli?"

Castiel's face went dark. He stuffed the necklace into his shirt and turned away from Dean, reaching for a bottle on the table. He took a long swig.

"Cas?" Dean pushed. "What happened? Where's Eli?"

"Eli's gone," Castiel said harshly, then lowered his voice until it was nearly a whisper. "Has been for a long time now."

"What do you mean, gone?" Dean asked, feeling sick to his stomach. "She's dead?"

Castiel let out another strange, aching laugh, turning back to Dean with reddened eyes. "Oh, right, you're from 2009. You sweet, innocent boy. You still think she can _die._ " He dropped his eyes, taking another long drink. "You know nothing."

"If she's not dead, where is she?" Dean took a step closer to the fallen angel. "Cas, you're not making any sense."

"She left," he choked out. "About two years ago. Just got up in the middle of the night and…" He made a running gesture with his fingers. "Scampered away."

"Ran away where?"

Castiel was silent. Dean put a hand on his shoulder, but he jerked it roughly away, finishing his bottle with a gulp.

"To Lucifer," he spat out. "She went to Lucifer. She betrayed us. She betrayed all of us."

* * *

Dean soon discovered that Future Dean was, to put it lightly, a dick.

"Torture?" he asked incredulously, leaning forward from his perched position on a back table. They were gathered in the 'war room,' a beaten shack of a place with long wooden tables and maps tacked to the walls. On the center table lay the Colt, newly discovered, its long barrel still gleaming after years of being shuttled around among demons. "Oh, so we're torturing again. No, that's good. Classy." He shot himself a sarcastic wink. Future him just glared, an icy, level look that plainly said _you have no idea what you're talking about, you fucking idiot._

Castiel snorted, and Future Dean's death glare swung to the fallen angel. Cas held up his hands and shrugged, an oddly giddy smile on his face, not at all deterred by Future Dean's glower. "What? I like past you."

Future Dean sighed a little and leaned over a map. "Lucifer is here," he said, pointing to a small red x on the ancient paper. "Now. I know the block and I know the building…"

"Oh, good—it's right in the middle of a hot zone," Castiel interrupted again. Dean noticed that when Cas had nothing to do with his hands he toyed idly with the rings around his neck, rolling them between his fingers like a child would a safety blanket.

Another patented death-glare was sent his way. "Crawling with Croats, yeah. You saying my plan is reckless?"

Castiel rocked back in his chair, his booted feet propped up on the top of the table. "Are you saying we walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?"

"Yes," Future Dean said shortly, crossing his arms, circles like dark gashes under his eyes, his green military jacket battered and a bit too large for his thinner frame. He smelled strongly of cigarettes and guns and booze, a sharp contrast to Castiel's dim scent of opium and dirt and sex.

Castiel rolled his eyes up into his head and chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Okay, if you don't like 'reckless', I could use 'insouciant', maybe."

"Are you coming?" Future Dean barked, highly annoyed. Castiel sighed.

"Of course. But why is he?" He jerked his thumb to Dean, who was watching the bizarre proceeds through wide eyes, still trying to process the fact that prissy, immaculately clean Castiel had his dirty boots on the table. "I mean, he's you five years ago. If something happens to him, you're gone, right?"

"He's coming," Future Dean growled.

"One more thing," Risa interjected, leaning forward so that her elbows were resting on her knees, her pretty face tense with worry. "What about the Dog? Lucifer's there, she's bound to be there too, right? What are we gonna do when she shows up?"

Castiel's face was suddenly closed. His hand dropped from the rings around his neck as he jerked his feet off of the table and stared hard at the floor. Future Dean shot him a glance, then moved with terrifying confidence to grasp the Colt.

"I hope she's there," he said, hefting the gun that was rumored to kill anything in existence, "because I'm just dying to see if this thing works on traitorous bitches."

There was silence for a moment, before Castiel roughly shoved his chair out and marched from the room, shoulders slumped. Future Dean didn't even seem to notice, just put the gun back on the table and surveyed the rest of the group with cold eyes.

"All right, everyone, come on. We're loaded and on the road by midnight."

* * *

Future Dean was going to sacrifice his friends for once chance at killing the devil with the Colt. When Dean tried to talk sense into him, tried to reach any shred of humanity left inside the battle-wearied soldier, Future Dean knocked him out, leaving him unconscious on the ground as the battle went on around him.

He awoke to a cool hand on his forehead. Long hair brushed his cheek. A familiar voice said: "Hey. Hey there, Dean. It's time to wake up now."

He squinted his eyes, trying to see through the curtain of hair that shone with an unearthly light, like the sun, and realized that someone was crouching over him. "Eli?" he croaked. The person leaned back and placed a soft hand in his, helping him to his feet.

"Hello, Dean. It's good to see you again."

He stood fully, brushing dirt from his pants and jacket. Eli watched him calmly. When he was finished he finally looked up, then stumbled backward, nearly tripping on his own feet.

"Eli? What the hell…what happened to you?"

She was glowing, literally glowing. Her hair was long, tumbling past her waist, thicker and smoother and whiter than it had ever been. She looked inhuman. She was wearing a white dress that draped to her bare feet, and her eyes were a strange, flat green, no white or pupil in them at all. Around her neck was a thin silver circlet of metal.

She smiled gently at him, but her voice was infinitely sad. "I've been like this for a while. Can't say I'm too fond of the dress, or the hair extensions; being a my-size creepy Barbie was his idea."

"His?" Dean asked roughly, stepping closer. "You mean Lucifer's?" She nodded. "Why? What are you? What the hell is that thing?" He gestured to the metal around her neck.

She reached up to touch it with light fingers. "It's my collar."

"What does that _mean_?" he demanded.

Eli sighed. "Please, Dean, you must understand…" She stepped closer to him and he stepped back, shaking his head.

"Understand what? Why you went to Lucifer? Why you left us, left Cas, became this …this _thing_? What possible explanation could you have for that?"

"Lucifer had already won," she said, her voice exhausted.

"What, so you just put your chips in with the winning team?" he snarled.

"No!" she exclaimed, real emotion showing on her face for the first time. "No, God no. I fought, Dean, I really did. I fought for three long years. But he'd won, we all knew it. Even you, the you of this time, knows it. You're fighting a losing battle. And you will die. All of you."

"So you left," Dean said coldly. "Way to be there for the people you care about."

"I left _because_ I care about you!" Tears were gathering in her eyes. She approached him, taking his hands in hers. Her skin felt wrong, too smooth and warm, like if he turned her palm over she wouldn't have any fingerprints. "The angels had left. Heaven is…empty. God is gone. The only thing that is left is this…and hell. Everyone goes to hell now, Dean. Good, bad, right, wrong…everyone goes to hell. That's Lucifer's last revenge on the human race."

She paused, taking a deep breath and releasing his hands. She turned her back on him, her shoulders shaking. "He has dominion over all of it now. He told me that if I came to him, if I accepted the collar and became his weapon, then he would spare you from hell. All of you, all of the people I love, all of _humanity_ , would be allowed entrance to heaven instead of burning on the rack for all of eternity. We're all dead anyway. We've already lost."

"So you said yes," Dean said quietly. She turned back to him, chin held high.

"I had to."

"Well isn't this cozy," rang out another, sickeningly familiar voice. Dean turned, his whole body tense and shaking. Eli merely stood there, her face once again impassive. "It's like a family reunion."

"Lucifer," Dean growled. The devil straightened his pure white suit fastidiously. Behind him Dean could see his own body, flat on the ground, eyes wide and staring. His neck was broken.

Lucifer smiled with Sam's face, but it looked strange, like a mask, as if he wasn't quite sure how to use his muscles. "Dean. You've come a long way to see this, haven't you?" He shifted his gaze to Eli. "You haven't been giving away any spoilers, pet?"

She dropped her head submissively. "Good," he said. There was a rustling behind him, and Lucifer's eyes lit up. "Oh yes, my little surprise. Dean, you'll probably want to watch this. Such drama. Better than a daytime soap."

From around the side of the house emerged two burly demons, dragging a bloodied and still-struggling Castiel between them.

"Let me go, you sons of bitches!" he was snarling, dragging his feet in an attempt to slow them down. Then he looked up at the scene before him, and his face paled. "Elijah," he gasped.

"Cas!" she exclaimed, surging forward, but stopped after a second, her face flashing briefly with pain, hand on her collar.

"Uh uh," Lucifer said, waving a finger at her. "You stay right where you are."

The demons threw Castiel on the ground hard enough that it took him a few moments to stand up. He looked at her with a mixture of awe and abject misery on his face, taking in her solid green eyes and eerie aura.

"God," he whispered, taking a shaking step forward. "Oh Eli, what has he done to you?"

"You see Dean," Lucifer said loudly, spreading his hands in a god-like gesture. All of them snapped their attention to the angel in Sam's body. "This is how it ends. My world. My heaven. My hell. This is how it will always end. It's…ineffable." He paused, smiling benevolently, then turned to Eli and motioned with a casual gesture to Castiel. "Kill him."

Eli's whole body began to glow. Castiel looked at her with wide, horror-filled eyes. She shook her head frantically, white hair swinging around her head. "No!"

Lucifer's face darkened. He stretched out his hand, tightening it into a fist. Eli began to gag, her hands clutching the collar. "Don't make me ask twice."

She glared at him. "No."

Suddenly she arched up, her whole body racked with pain. She looked like she was being electrocuted. Lucifer looked mildly bored. "Kill him, Elijah."

She screamed in agony. Castiel stepped forward, but was stopped by a wave of Lucifer's hand. "Stop this!" he yelled. "Stop it now!"

Lucifer racked up the torture another notch. Lightning crackled along her skin, stemming from the collar. "I'll stop when she says yes," he said mildly.

There was the smell of burning, like her flesh was being peeled off. Dean tried to intervene but was pushed backward by an invisible force. "You son of a bitch!" he yelled. "You'll kill her!"

"Oh, I don't think so, Dean," Lucifer said, smirking. "I highly doubt that." He looked at her almost kindly. "Elijah? Ready to submit?"

She stared at him with absolute hatred. "I won't kill him," she swore, tears in her eyes. "You can make me do anything else, make me blow up this whole goddamned world, but I won't kill him."

"Oh, I think you will," he said, lifting a finger. She arched in pain again; it looked like her whole body was on white fire. "I have all day." He turned to Castiel. "You know, _Cas_ , I don't think you appreciate the amount of pain she's in. Think of hell, times, oh I don't know, let's give it a rough guess and say five thousand. I've had her wipe out whole cities with less resistance than she's showing right now." He smiled gently. "Man, she must really love you."

Castiel looked at him with horror. "Please, stop…" he croaked out.

"This stops," Lucifer said, "when she says yes and you die."

Through the white lightning-fire Dean could see flashes of bone. She was still screaming, a high, keening wail, but her hands were clenched into determined fists. Dean felt a flash of pride. She was still resisting, still fighting. He wondered how much longer she could hold out.

The sound reached near-unbearable levels.

A gunshot cracked, a sharp, clean sound, and all fell silent.

Eli dropped to the ground, her skin whole and unblemished, her eyes pulled tight with remembered pain. She cracked them open and stared at her hands, then looked up and began to cry, huge, body-shaking sobs. "Oh, no," she whimpered, crawling on the ground in her white dress. "Oh, God, no…"

Dean looked at the scene in horror, at the gun that lay by the former angel's head, at the blood that pooled around his fallen body. Castiel was dead. He had shot himself to end her pain.

"You see, Dean," Lucifer said, turning to smile pleasantly at the man from the past. "I win. No matter how the game is played, no matter what you change, in the end, I always get what I want. So, I win."

"Kill me," Eli's voice rang out. Both men jerked to look at her. She was holding Castiel's head in her lap, stroking his hair, her dress drenched in blood and filth. But she wasn't looking at Lucifer. She was looking at Dean.

"Only an Archangel can," she said hurriedly, her solid green eyes pleading. "Dean, you can stop all of this. I have to die. It's the only way."

"Stop," Lucifer growled, taking a step toward her. She ignored him.

"Kill me, Dean," she pleaded. Lucifer took another menacing step, raising his hand.

Something grabbed Dean by the shoulder. Zachariah whirled him around, placing two fingers on his forehead, and the whole scene melted away before his eyes.

* * *

When Castiel zapped him away from Zachariah's clutches, Dean found himself in a hotel room. Castiel was standing in front of him in just his white shirt and black pants, barefoot. Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

"Nice timing, Cas."

Castiel smiled faintly. "We had an appointment."

"Hey, Dean," Eli said, emerging from the bathroom in a bathrobe, a towel around her head, skin flushed from the hot water. She took one look at his pale and flustered face and approached him on swift feet. "You okay?"

Dean put one hand on each of their shoulders. "You two," he said seriously, "don't ever change."

Eli wrinkled her brow. "Dean, what happened? What did Zachariah do to you? What did you see?"

He stared at her for a long moment, then dropped his hands to his sides. "Nothing," he said shortly. "He just wanted me to say yes."

"You sure about that?" Castiel asked, giving him that squint-eyed, vaguely unnerving scrutinizing stare. Dean nodded, looking at his shoes.

"Yeah. Positive." He pulled out his phone, jittery with adrenaline and filled to brimming with the knowledge of all he had seen, of the horrifying future that he still firmly believed he could stop. He knew now what he had to do. "Listen, if you lovebirds'll excuse me, I have to make a call."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, I also have my side AU fic "Wire In A Fire" up, set in the dark future universe. It details the end of the world and how everything fell apart. Hey, no one ever said the zombie apocalypse would be fun.


	5. The Anti-Christ Sparks A Lively Debate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place shortly after "I Believe The Children Are Our Future." I didn't incorporate that episode into the written story because nothing new happens/is revealed in it, but it is important to remember that it still took place off-screen.

 

 

Eli sat on the beach, digging her toes in the sand. The night was cool, the waves placid; above, the moon was a precise half-circle, spilling a shimmering strip of white light onto the water. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, the fringes of her cargo pants wet and grainy from where she had walked in the ocean.

"There you are."

Eli turned to see Castiel walking up to her with a look of concentration on his face, trying desperately to keep sand out of his shoes. She laughed quietly.

"You look like an awkward duck. Take your shoes off."

He frowned at her suspiciously. "What?"

She patted the ground next to her. "Sit down and take your shoes off. It's much more enjoyable, I promise."

Slowly he dropped by her side, trench coat flaring around him, and tugged at his shoes. "Socks too," she added, and he gave just the flicker of an eye roll before pulling them off and folding them neatly. Then, with a look of trepidation on his face, he placed his bare feet on the sand, wiggling them around a little bit.

"This is…pleasant," he said, surprised. "Cool. Softer than I would have expected, for tiny particles of grit." He pooled some in the palm of his hand and let it drip through his fingers.

Eli leaned against his shoulder. "There are a lot of good things in this world," she said softly. He looked down at her, stroking the back of her hand with his slightly-sandy fingers.

"We were all worried about you. You've been gone for hours. No one knew where you were." His tone was vaguely reprimanding.

"I just needed to think."

He kissed the top of her head. "About?"

"The Anti-Christ."

Castiel stiffened. "Why were you thinking about the child?" he asked, in a quiet, raspy voice.

"You know why." Eli sighed, turning to him. The moonlight washed out her features, making her look silver, like a ghost. "Cas, he was the product of a human and a demon. A regular, black-eyed, nothing-special demon. And look at what he could do." She fell silent for a moment, dipping her head and drawing stick-figures in the sand. "It made me think. I'm the child of the Archangel Michael, biggest tool there is. So…where are my ridiculous powers? Why am I not changing the world with a thought?"

"You wish to be?" Castiel asked, drawing back. She shook her head fiercely.

"No! No, that's too much…too much power. But it doesn't make any sense." She raised her head and looked him in the eye. "You've thought about it too, I know you have. Why am I so practically powerless? With my pedigree I should be fucking glowing with it. Instead I'm exhausted after wasting a handful of demons. Sam on demon blood is ten times more powerful than I am. How can that be?"

He frowned, just the tiniest tightening of the lips and furrowing of the brow, and looked out over the water. "Perhaps you are," he said. Eli tilted her head, confused.

"Am what?"

"Powerful."

She scoffed. "But I'm not."

"No, you misunderstand me." He took a deep breath and met her gaze. "Maybe you are and you don't know it. Maybe it's been kept from you. Hidden."

Eli raised her eyebrows, pushing a stray hair from her face. "How? Who could do such a thing?"

"Heaven," Castiel answered simply. "It would take a lot of power, a lot of influence, but…it could be done. Perhaps that is why we wanted you to forget, when Azazel pulled out the barrier and released your power. Maybe it was because heaven knew it was just one barrier, one lock on the door, and that there were others."

"You mean I could be sitting on a goldmine of awesome power and I don't even know it?" Eli asked incredulously. He nodded, the wind ruffling his dark hair.

"It's a theory."

She paused. "Then what about the collar?"

Castiel's blue eyes were serious and dark. "It's a binding object," he stated.

"Yeah, we've been through this. But what exactly does it do?"

He was quiet, head tilted up to observe the spray of stars across the night sky, and there was something very pensive and weighted about his silence. Then, in a soft voice, he said: "It binds powerful magic to the will of the binder. Like a leash. The bound is… compelled to do what is ordered of them. If disobeyed, I've heard the results can be… terrible."

"And you knew this the whole time and never told me?" she asked, her voice icy. He looked at her, and there was something sad in the curve of his mouth, the way his eyebrows tilted inward and his shoulders slumped, all gentle and tired.

"I did not want to worry you." He lifted his hand to her face but she jerked away, turning instead to stare at the ocean. For several long minutes the only sound was the waves against the shore, soothing. In the distance, a bird cried. The sand under their feet was chill, and the brine-scented wind cut through Eli's sweatshirt to lay damp and heavy on the skin beneath.

Eli was contemplating. She thought of Azazel trying to force the collar around her throat, of disintegrating in Lucifer's light, of Zachariah trying to force her to accept the grace, of War telling her that she would destroy everyone. This she most focused on, his gleeful face telling her what she would become. A weapon. A dog on a leash.

"So how do we do it?" she asked finally in a clipped voice, hands nervously pulling threads from the cuffs of her sweatshirt. Castiel shifted in the sand.

"Do what?"

"Hulk me out. Get at that power. I mean, the world is ending, right? Why not? Maybe we could get a jump on Lucifer, stop this whole thing before it ends bloody."

"Lucifer has the collar," he pointed out. Eli shrugged.

"If I'm supposed to be so kick-ass, he won't be able to get it on me. Not if I break the binding spells first."

Castiel stared blankly at her. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" she challenged. "Do you know how?"

He dropped his gaze. "No," he admitted. "There must be a way, but I can't figure it out."

"Well, aren't you helpful," Eli snapped, moving as if to stand. He caught her arm.

"You're upset."

"You lied to me, Cas," she said, looking at him with quiet betrayal. "You knew all of this and have just been sitting on it. I asked you what the collar was. I asked why demons would be after me, why the angels hated me. You always gave these vague, noncommittal answers, and now I know why."

"I never lied to you," he insisted in a steady voice. "I just …omitted a few pieces of information. For your own peace of mind."

She jerked her arm out of his grasp. "Angels," she said scornfully, standing and grabbing her shoes. "All the same."

Then she turned and walked away, leaving a hurt, confused, and barefoot Castiel sitting in the sand.

* * *

"So you're telling me you could be like that kid, but like…on speed?" Dean asked. He was sitting on the motel room bed, brown shirt-sleeves rolled up, elbows on his knees. A few feet away Sam rested his chin on the back of a chair, watching Eli pace frantically.

"Basically," she said, turning to make another pass around the room, but Dean shot out an arm and stopped her.

"Woah, there, Merry-Go-Round. You're making me nauseous. Sit down."

Eli sank onto the bed opposite from Dean and pulled her feet under her, looking harassed. "So what do we do?" she asked.

Dean and Sam shared one of their long, telepathic looks. "Nothing," Dean said finally. Her head shot up.

"What do you mean, nothing?" she asked incredulously, looking very much like she wanted to start pacing again. "We could stop this whole thing…"

"Yeah, and it would be just like Sam hopped up on demon blood, or the angels walking around in our skins. Too much power, Eli. It's not good. It corrupts."

"But you don't _know…_ " she started, but he interrupted her.

"Yes, I do!"

There was silence for a moment. Then Sam asked tentatively: "Dean, is there something you're not telling us?"

Dean stared at his brother, indecision and doubt clearly reflected on his face, like a war was going on inside of him. He groaned, then dropped his head and began fumbling through his coat pockets. Finally he pulled out a cell phone.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, watching him as he dialed.

"Calling Cas!" Dean barked, holding the phone to his ear. "He needs to hear this, too."

* * *

For a long time after Dean finished speaking, there was a stunned silence in the room. Eli was still sitting on the bed, her legs crossed under her. They had long since gone numb, but she didn't think to move them. Sam had turned his chair the right way around and was leaning on his knees, cupping his face in his hands and staring into space with a dazed, horrified look. Castiel stood quietly in the corner, his shoes back on, deep in thought.

"So…" Eli said after what seemed to be an eternity. "In the future, you're a soulless rebel leader, Lucifer's wearing Sam to the prom, Castiel is a junkie hippie, and I'm some kind of powered-up mega-angel?"

"That about sums it up," Dean said morosely. Castiel shifted, clearly uncomfortable with this vision of himself.

"Dean, why didn't you tell us sooner?" Sam asked in a quiet voice. Dean shot him a pained look.

"I wanted to, Sammy, really I did, but I…" He took a deep breath, running a hand through his messy hair. "It was all so crazy. I was hoping it would be wrong."

"And now you don't think it is?" Eli's voice was nearly inaudible. She tilted her head down, letting her hair fall into her eyes. _You're going to destroy them all_ , War whispered in her mind. She felt sick.

"Well, the pieces are falling into place, aren't they?" Dean asked. "I mean, Sam's here, so that's a start, but I didn't understand what was up with Eli's mojo before. Now it all kind of makes sense."

"So this me, this future me…" Eli stumbled on her words, trying to find the best way to phrase the insanity that was her life. "She told you not to let me unlock my powers."

Dean stared at her, his face hard. "She told me to kill you, Eli."

All of them jolted upright. "What?" Sam asked. Castiel moved forward, unable to stop himself. He gripped her shoulder, and instead of pulling away she placed her hand on top of his, feeling its warmth radiate through her shock-cold skin.

"She told me the only way to save everyone… was if you died. And I had to make it happen."

"How?" Eli demanded. Dean licked his lips nervously.

"Archangel. She said it's the only option."

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear," Castiel ground out, his face thunderous. He looked suddenly bigger, darker, radiating an energy that they hadn't seen him display in a long time. "No one is killing Eli."

Sam held up his hands and the angel swung his murderous gaze to him. "Woah, Cas, we're not saying anything. We're not killing anyone." He glared at his brother. "Right?" Dean hesitated. "Right?" Sam pressed, a little harshly.

"Right!" Dean finally exclaimed, standing up and walking to the window. "God, what do you guys think I am? We're not going to gank anybody. I'm just saying…" He trailed off and looked out the window at the dim streets below. In the distance, the ocean stretched, black and shining. "That's what she told me," he finished wearily.

"Well, we're not gonna let that happen," Sam said with determination. "I mean, come on. I know I'm not gonna say yes to Lucifer. We're all together. So the future can be changed."

Dean was silent. Castiel watched him through narrowed eyes, his hand still heavy on Eli's shoulder.

Finally she stood. "Well this has been perky, but I think that's enough apocalyptic future death talk for one night." She turned to Castiel and her gaze softened, their fight forgotten. "You coming?" she asked, squeezing his hand. He squeezed back, but his eyes stayed on Dean.

"In a minute."

Eli raised her eyebrows but said nothing, just grabbed her coat and walked out of the room. Sam followed her, glancing nervously back as he closed the door. Dean was still looking out the window, deep in thought, but he turned when he heard the angel's measured steps come up behind him.

"Cas, what are you…" he started.

"Listen to me carefully, Dean," Castiel said in harsh voice, grabbing the front of Dean's shirt and pulling him in. "You lay a finger on Elijah, and I'll kill Sam, and scatter his remains so far apart that even Lucifer won't be able to put them back together. Do you understand me?"

Dean's mouth dropped open. "Cas, I…"

Castiel pulled him a little closer, his gaze frightening. "Do you understand me, Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah! Yeah, of course. I wouldn't, Cas." Castiel merely glared at him. He held up his hands submissively. "I wouldn't!"

Castiel tilted his head slowly, as if measuring the truth of his words, then finally dropped him. "Good," he said, opening the door and disappearing into the night.


	6. Changing Channels (aka The Infamous Infodump)

 

 

Life traveling with the Winchesters, Eli realized, was worse than being high on acid.

She came to this realization as she stood in blue scrubs in the middle of a fantasy soap-opera hospital, watching Dean slam "Dr. Sexy" into a wall and insist that he was not the "real" Doctor Sexy because he was not wearing his sexy cowboy boots. That's when Eli fully began to appreciate how fucked up her life was. Not the apocalypse, not her half-angel ticking time bomb status, this: being inside Dr. Sexy, MD.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if perhaps she wasn't just psychotic, locked in a mental ward somewhere, dreaming all of this. It would make more sense.

Doctor Sexy smirked and morphed into the Trickster. "You guys are getting better!" he exclaimed.

Eli shook her head. There was something _off_ about him. Not in the way War was off, but similar, like he was blurry around the edges but somehow…dappled with light. It hurt her head to look at him.

The Trickster turned to her, smiling. "Ah, Elijah. The Nephilim. I don't think we've had the pleasure." He tilted his head, his grin about to break his face. "Have a bit of a headache, do you? You're lucky: you're in a hospital. I'm sure you can find an aspirin here somewhere."

"Get us the hell out of here," Dean growled, still holding him against the wall. The Trickster smirked, easily pushing the burlier man away and twisting his arm painfully.

"Or what? Don't see any wooden stakes, big guy."

"That was you on the police scanner, right?" Sam asked, crossing his arms and giving his best surly look. "This is a trick."

"I told you so," Eli muttered.

The Trickster rolled his eyes and gestured to his face. "Hello? _Trickster_. Come on! I heard you yahoos were in town. How could I resist?"

"Where the hell are we?" Dean demanded.

"Like it?" he asked, skipping to the wall and rapping it merrily. "It's all homemade. My own sets, my own actors...call it my own little idiot box."

Eli ran her hands along the walls, her face tense. "I can almost see the illusion," she muttered. "Like a mirage, like a glamour, but only if I concentrate. Maybe I can…" She pushed, but nothing happened. The Trickster shook his finger at her.

"Not strong enough, girlie. Sorry to say, you're trapped here too."

She straightened and fixed her scrutiny on him instead. Something was off about this whole situation. He looked too… golden standing there. Too blurred. Radiant, almost. "What are you?" she asked after a moment. He looked taken aback.

"What do you mean?" he asked, laughing a little. "You know exactly who I am."

"No, I mean…your mirage. It's extended to you, too. You're hiding something from us." She took a step closer to him. "What is it?"

"I think that's enough fun for you today," he said loudly, waving his hand, and Eli disappeared.

"What did you do with her, you son of a bitch?" Dean asked hotly, stepping forward with his hands clenched into fists. The Trickster looked at him, all innocence.

"Little Eli's got her own show to star in. Don't worry. I'm sure you'll meet back up… eventually."

* * *

Eli landed with a thump on something soft. "What the hell?" she muttered, looking around her. She was sitting on a flowery couch in a perfectly normal living room, wearing some kind of loose, earth-colored tunic and pants. She was barefoot. Something confining was around her neck.

"Now," a voice came from a few feet away. She turned and saw a familiar-looking man standing with a worried, middle aged couple. All of them were staring at her. "What we need to remember is that the dog doesn't want to be the leader. It's a tough job. Dogs are happiest when you take control. We'll start with a little food to coax her over."

Eli's mouth dropped open. "Cesar Milan?" she whispered. "The Dog Whisperer?"

He walked over to her cautiously, holding something that looked like bacon in his hand. "Come on, girl," he cooed. "That's a girl."

Eli looked around her. She could see no dog. She turned back; they were all still staring at her, Cesar inching closer, the food in his palm. "Oh, _hell_ no," she said, getting off the couch and backing up with her hands held out. "No no no. Are you people out of your minds?" They stared at her backing away but did nothing. "Can't you people hear me? Hello? I am not a dog. Hey, get that thing away from me!"

She tried to make a run for it but Cesar grabbed her arm and with an inhumanly fast movement snapped something to her neck. Eli realized that it was a leash.

"Good girl," he praised, trying to give her the treat. She bared her teeth at him.

"I am not a dog, you crazy motherummpphhh!"

He had shoved the treat in her mouth, smiling pleasantly. She spat it on the floor, rubbing her lips with the back of her hand.

"I am going to kill the Trickster, that son of a bitch." She began to scrabble at the collar wrapped around her neck. "Get this thing off of me. Ow!"

He had swatted her nose with a rolled up newspaper.

"Now that we have her under control," Cesar said pleasantly. "We're going to teach her the basic Sit, Stay command." He jerked the leash down to the floor, causing Eli to stumble and fall on her face. "Good girl. Easy, girl."

"This is so embarrassing," she groaned, struggling to get up. He held her there firmly, saying something about staying cool and in control.

"I'll cool and in control you," she muttered somewhat incoherently. He offered her a treat, which she refused, clamping her lips shut.

"Aw, come on, girl. I'm not going to let you up until you accept the treat," he said sweetly. Eli glowered at him from her place on the floor. Finally she let out a sigh.

"I can't believe I'm doing this…" Eli opened her mouth tentatively and he popped the treat inside.

"Good girl," he cooed, letting her stand. "Now for the beg command."

Eli covered her face in her hands. "Oh for the love of …" she moaned, but was cut off by the door opening.

"Eli?" came a wonderfully familiar rough voice. She lifted her head and beamed.

"Cas!" She started to run to him but was jerked back by the leash. "I'm in a dog-training show! They think I'm a dog! _You have to get me out of here!"_

"Hurry!" he said, rushing toward her and reaching out his hand. She stretched toward him, but a second before their fingers touched he wavered and disappeared.

The leash tugged a little. "Nuh uh. Bad dog."

She turned to him and bared her teeth, feeling a growl rise in her throat. "You want a dog, buddy? Then I'll give you a mother-fucking dog."

She lunged at him, knocking him to the ground and biting him hard on the ear. He screamed. She tore out a chunk of flesh with her teeth, blood filling her mouth, then grabbed his short hair and slammed the back of his head into the wood until he fell still, blood pooling red around his immobile body.

Slow clapping started from the other side of the room. "Well, I never. So much violence from a half-angel. Then again, Daddy's pretty big on the smiting, ain't he?"

The scene wavered. It remained the same except dead Cesar was gone. She turned her head slowly, the taste of bloody like iron in her mouth, to stare at the middle-aged couple. The husband wavered, morphing into the Trickster.

Eli stood, shaky with adrenaline, and wiped blood off of her mouth with the back of her hand. "Where's Cas?" was her first demand. "What did you do with him?"

"Well lookie here, a Nephilim in love with an angel. Never guessed something like this would happen to good ol' Castiel. Always seemed to have such a stick up his butt." He leaned in and said in a stage whisper: "Between you and me, I always thought he preferred dudes."

Eli stared at him suspiciously, running her tongue over sticky red teeth and trying not to gag. "How do you know him?" she asked.

He grinned and spread his hands magnanimously. "I can't give away all my tricks, now can I?"

"What is this, you douche?" she snapped, advancing on him. "What do you want from me?"

"Just wanted you to see what life is like with a collar," he said, shrugging. "Sucks, doesn't it? Think on that, baby girl."

Then he snapped his fingers and everything changed.

* * *

"Oh, nothing," Sam exclaimed, putting his hands on his narrow hips and smiling too brightly. "Just the end of the world!" Laughter sounded around him. He spotted the two-foot tall sandwich on the center of the day-glo table. "You're gonna need a bigger mouth." More laughter. Sam's smile became strained. He walked closer to Dean, something close to desperation in his eyes. "Hey, have you done your research yet?"

Dean looked around guiltily. The laughter was starting to get grating. "Oh, yeah. All kinds of research. All night."

"Yeah?" Sam asked perkily.

The bathroom door opened. "Oh, you have _got_ to be shitting me," a familiar, highly annoyed voice said, causing the brothers to turn in surprise. The laugh track rolled on.

Eli was standing there in high heels and a skimpy bra and underwear, her breasts pushed up uncomfortably high, her hair tumbling loosely down past her shoulders. She tried desperately to cover herself with her hands but gave up after a minute, stomping out of the bathroom in anger. "That misogynistic dickhead. I'm gonna kill him for this."

The voices laughed.

"Eli! You're looking…lovely," Dean said loudly over the wolf whistles. In a quieter voice, he hissed: " _Where have you been?"_

 _"You seriously don't want to know,"_ she muttered back. Then, in a louder voice, she said: "This is bullshit!"

"Just play the role," Sam said, still smiling.

"For how long?" she asked. "Dean, stop staring at my chest."

He jerked his gaze upward, ignoring the applause. "Ah, sorry. Nice look, though." He glanced at Sam. "But yeah, what she said. How long do we have to keep doing this?"

Sam struggled to keep smiling, but it came out a grimace. "I don't know. Maybe forever?" The laugh track clapped enthusiastically. "We might die in here," he said in a tight voice. More laughter.

"How was that funny?" Dean exclaimed. "Vultures."

Just then the door flew open and Castiel stumbled in, his face scratched and bleeding. He paused, staring at Eli, his jaw dropping a little. She put her hands on her hips, scowling. Dean waved a hand in front of his face. "You okay?"

Castiel jerked his eyes to Dean. "I don't have much time. Something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be."

"What thing—the Trickster?" Dean asked.

"If it is a trickster," Castiel said darkly.

Sam crossed his arms, wrinkling his brow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Suddenly Castiel was lifted off his feet and sent flying into the wall. The Trickster opened the door with a flourish.

"Hello!" he cried, bowing to the invisible audience. "Thank you, thank you."

Castiel struggled to get up, his mouth duct-taped shut. Eli rushed to him, wobbling on her absurdly high heels, but before she could reach him the Trickster waved cheerily, shouted "Hi, Castiel!" and caused the angel to vanish. Eli was mostly there and stumbled, falling into the Trickster's arms. He beamed at her. "Hello, Eli. You're looking just delightful. Do you like the outfit? I designed it myself."

She reeled backward so fast she almost fell again. "You unbelievable dick. Where is he?"

"Relax," he said breezily. "Your little boyfriend will live… _maybe_. Though I have to wonder at your taste." He leaned in confidentially. "Is it the vessel? I do have to say, Jimmy Novak is dishy."

"I will kill you," she ground out. He leered.

"Touched a nerve there, did I?"

"All right, enough of this," Dean said loudly, stepping between the two of them; Eli had the strangest feeling that he was protecting her honor. As he spoke he pulled off his outer shirt and handed it her. She put it on gratefully and started to button. "I am done with the monkey dance, okay? We get it."

"Yeah?" The Trickster asked cockily. "Get what, hotshot?"

"Playing our roles, right?" Dean demanded, irritated. "That's your game?"

Just as Eli secured the last button the shirt disappeared, leaving her again in only underwear. She sighed loudly and shot a long-suffering look at Sam, who immediately tugged off his own button-down, so that both of the brothers were in threadbare short-sleeve shirts.

The Trickster was smirking. "That's half the game."

"What's the other half?" Sam asked, handing the shirt to Eli. She shoved her arms into the giant armholes, swam in the material for a moment, found her hands, and began to button.

The Trickster waved his arms dramatically. "Play your roles _out there_."

There was a brief pause. "What's that supposed to mean?" Dean finally asked.

Eli finished buttoning. The shirt disappeared. "You fucking perv…" she muttered under her breath as the conversation continued around her.

"Oh, you know." The Trickster's voice took on a booming quality, as if he were speaking through a microphone at a wrestling match. "Sam starring as Lucifer! Dean starring as Michael! Your celebrity death match. _Play your roles_."

"You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Hells yeah!" The Trickster cried, thrusting his hips a little. "Let's light this candle!"

"And what about me?" Eli asked, stepping forward and crossing her arms. She realized belatedly that it was next to impossible to look intimidating while standing in hooker underwear, especially when said underwear had little charms that were currently jingling as she moved. "I get the whole dog/ collar analogy, but what does it mean?"

"It means it sucks to be a dog," The Trickster snapped. She raised her eyebrows.

"As opposed to…"

He spread his arms. "An angel! That's what they're offering you, right? Why be a chained animal when you can be one of heaven's host?" He leaned forward, suddenly aggressive. "You need to stop resisting what is offered to you and become what you are supposed to be."

"Or what?" she demanded.

"Or you'll ruin everything," he growled. "So these boys will say yes to their respective angels, and you'll take the grace and _become_ an angel, and we'll all go home happy. Kapish?"

Yeah, Eli decided, facing down Loki, who was ordering her to become an angel, in nothing but her underwear in the middle of a television show. Winchester brothers? Way worse than acid.

* * *

Then came the big reveal.

Gabriel was an Archangel, one who was very, very good at masking his power. He had buried it deep enough that the only remnant of Eli's usual Archangel allergic reaction was the headache she felt when looking at him. He had, over a millennia, turned himself into Loki, inside and out.

He stood with them now in the warehouse, trapped in a ring of fire, bleating his frustration to the three hunters.

"I want it to be over!" he moaned. "I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you! Heaven, hell, I don't care who wins, I just want it to be _over_."

"Would you like a little cheese with your whine?" Eli muttered darkly, hands shoved in the pockets of her cargo pants, still pissed about the underwear ordeal. He swung on her.

"You!" he exclaimed. "The wrench in the plans. You are _not supposed to_ fuck with the apocalypse. This isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other. It has to be that way. These two guys?" He jerked his thumb at the Winchesters. "That's fate. And you're mucking it up!"

"How?" Dean demanded. "Why is she so important?"

Gabriel sighed. "Because whoever gets that collar on her first, wins. No battle. No guts, no glory. Just an attack dog on a leash, ripping people's throats out."

"So I do have power locked away inside me," Eli said. "How do I get it out?"

He rolled his eyes, irritated. "You _don't_ , idiot. You can't. Someone has to get it out for you."

"Who?" Sam asked.

He pointed to himself. "Only an Archangel can, kids. And believe you me, no Archangel is gonna let that power bust loose without the collar on hand."

"Wait wait wait." Dean held up his hands. "I thought an Archangel was supposed to kill her, not bust the locks on her door." Eli wrinkled her nose, feeling vaguely like there was an innuendo in there somewhere.

"Killing her _will_ bust open the locks. God, are you people slow?" Gabriel drawled, hands on his hips. "Listen, it's like this: Archangel smites the shit out of blondie here. She disintegrates into a thousand pieces. And then – and _only_ then—can said Archangel get the collar around her as she reforms, new and improved. Second too late, she's gone. Out the window, chock full o' Godlike power."

"So why did Azazel try to put the collar on me?" Eli asked, stepping as close as she dared to the holy fire. "He couldn't blow me to bits."

"What is this, twenty questions? Figure it out for yourself." They stared at him blankly. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Think about it, geniuses. She has the collar already safe around her neck, she's under the demon's power. He can walk her all quiet-like right up to the pit and throw her in, gift-wrapped for old Luci to destroy and put back together. It was _insurance_."

Eli studied him carefully, his semi-cherubic face, currently bunched up in rage, and floppy brown hair. He – or his vessel, she guessed—looked strangely diminutive for an Archangel. Like the class clown no one would take seriously until it was too late. She guessed that was the point.

"Why are you telling us all of this?" she asked finally.

"What, beside the fact that I'm stuck in a ring of fire?" he answered glibly. "To show you what you're up against. Death, rebirth, destruction, the devastation of the entire planet. You like free will so much? Well, keep going down this path and it'll end up the opposite: Complete and total submission. And I bet Lucifer's kinky."

She scowled at him. "Ew. So what will the grace do?"

"Negate the effects! _Duh_. No one gives two shits about collaring an ordinary angel. That's like going from a Rottweiler to a teacup Chihuahua. So take the grace. Angel up. Boom. Done. Problem solved. And then Lucifer can take Sam, and Michael can take Dean, and we can all get back to having our apocalypse like civilized people!" He ended his rant shouting, spittle flying from his lips. Eli shook her head, crossing her arms.

"You really are an angry little man."

"Look, kids," he said, holding his hands out as if in supplication. "I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow...but this is real, and it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be."

They were all silent for a moment. Eli felt glutted with information; she couldn't absorb it all. Her future self had told Dean she had to die. Clearly she meant before Lucifer got her. But it seemed impossible. And did she really want it? Eli thought back to the child, the child of a demon and a human, and shuddered. No, she didn't. That much power, even untethered…it would destroy her.

"So!" Gabriel clapped his hands to snap them out of their personal reveries. "Now what? We stare at each other for the rest of eternity?"

"Well, first of all, you're gonna bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him," Dean growled.

Gabriel grinned. "Shouldn't that be _her_ line?"

"Listen to me, you horrible little troll," Eli hissed. "I'm hoping you say no. Because after that dog show stunt, and the _hilarious_ disappearing shirts trick, I want to have a good reason to dunk you in holy oil and watch as it flambés the skin off of your body. Do you understand me?"

He stared at her for a second. "And they say Sam's got anger issues." He snapped his fingers and Castiel appeared, looking battered. "There you go, psycho. One angelic boyfriend, fully intact."

"Cas!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him. "You okay?"

He leaned a little on her shoulder but nodded. "I'm fine. Hello, Gabriel."

"Hey, bro," he said in a false-chipper voice. "How's the search for Daddy going? Let me guess. Awful. And lookie, you're sleeping with the Abomination who might just deep fry the earth. Nice choice."

Castiel glared at him. Dean just shook his head in disgust.

"Let's go," he muttered.

Eli walked out first, zooming past the rest of them. She couldn't take the atmosphere in there anymore, the acrid oil smoke burning her lungs, the Archangel's words ringing in her ears. _'You like free will so much? Well, keep going down this path and it'll end up the opposite: Complete and total submission.'_

"Are you all right?" Castiel asked, coming up behind her as she stood by the Impala. She loved his voice, its soothing rough quality, low, comforting. "Elijah?" He touched her shoulder gently.

It was like a dam broke inside of her at his touch. Eli turned to him, burying her face in his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, began to cry.

 


	7. Abandon All Hope (Ye Who Enter Here)

 

 

"So what do you say I give you this thing, and you go kill the devil?"

They were inside the demon Crowley's disgustingly lavish mansion, Crowley holding out the Colt to the startled hunters. Dean, Sam, and Eli shared a look. Eli shrugged. Finally Sam reached out and took it with hesitant fingers, as if afraid that it would burn him.

"Uh, great," he said, raising his eyebrows, surprised that it would be this easy.

"Great," Crowley said in a satisfied voice.

"You wouldn't happen to know where the devil is, by chance, would you?" Sam asked tentatively.

Crowley sighed, as if amazed at the incompetence of those around him. He turned around, rifling through a date book on his desk. "Thursday, birdies tell me, there's an appointment in Carthage, Missouri," he said in his clipped British accent. Sam glanced at Dean, who nodded slightly.

"Great," Sam said. Crowley turned to face them and Sam put the Colt right between the demon's eyes, pulling the trigger. Nothing happened. Crowley stared at them impassively, then jumped as if remembering something important.

"Oh, yeah, right, you'll probably need some more ammunition." He walked to a cabinet, taking out a small satchel. Eli snorted, then tried to cover it with a cough.

It drew the demon's attention. "Oh yes, one more thing," he said, holding up the ammunition. "I want to talk to the Nephilim." There was silence as he stared at their suspicious faces. "Privately," he added.

"Why?" Sam asked, at the same time Dean snarled: "No way." Eli just watched him cautiously.

Crowley waggled the ammunition case. "You want this? Then I want five minutes with the girl. Just five. I promise I'll bring her back in one piece."

"Why?" Dean asked belligerently.

"We have some things to discuss. Now, yay or nay? You want the bullets or not?"

"Will everyone please stop talking about me as if I'm not here?" Eli snapped, stepping to the front of the group. "Fine, I'll do it."

Crowley smiled widely. "Wonderful." He tossed the bag to Dean, who caught it, startled. "Boys, now that our discussion is done, if you wouldn't mind getting the hell out?" He gestured to the door and they went flying backward through it. Another twitch of the fingers and it closed again, leaving her trapped in the room with the odd demon. "Very good."

"Why do you want to talk to me?" Eli asked coldly, crossing her arms. He poured himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter on his desk, offered her it, and at her flat look shrugged and downed it himself.

"Just wanted to give you a heads up," he said.

She waited. He poured himself another drink.

"You see, I don't fully trust that those idiots are going to plug Lucifer. They seem…well, not the most apt of warriors, to put it lightly. They might fail, and then where am I? Dead, and stupid for having trusted my life to those morons." He paused, eyeing her up and down. "So, if they fail, little ducky, it'll land on your shoulders to kill the devil."

"How?" Eli asked, though she already knew, deep in her gut. "The gun?"

"Truth be told, the gun might not even work. He is an Archangel. They're difficult buggers to kill." He sighed, leaning against the edge of the desk and swirling his drink thoughtfully. "No. What I say you'd have to do would be to find an Archangel of your own, and make him really, really angry."

Eli frowned. "What?"

"Bad tempers, these Archangels have," he continued blithely. "Blind rages, you might call them. If there's any way to get one to smash your bones and break that sodding barrier, that's it. I guess you could say you wouldn't like them when they're angry." He smirked at her over the top of his glass. "Do we understand each other?"

"How do you know all of this?" she asked suspiciously. "How do you know about me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Darling, it's my job to know. I get around."

"Any other pearls of wisdom?" Eli asked, shifting with anxious energy. She didn't like being inside of Enochian barriers. They made her feel weak and oddly powerless, like every cell in her body was shouting at her to get out of there. It reminded her too strongly of the night Azazel released her powers, how the dim and dank warehouse had been coated in Enochian warding sigils that made her knees tremble and her head pound.

"Just do it quick," he said, staring at her seriously. "Because if these boys fail, you might be our only hope of killing the devil. But he can't get to you first. He does…" Crowley sighed, finishing his drink and placing it on the desk, where drops pooled in a wet ring of condensation. "We're all dead."

* * *

The night before they hunted the devil, Bobby took a picture. The image clicked: Castiel on the far left, his arms wrapped affectionately around Eli; Sam next to him, one arm slung over the angel's shoulders; Ellen in the middle, looking stoic; Dean tilting his head near Jo's; Bobby in the wheelchair. The picture was black and white. Eli scrawled on the back of it, in black magic marker: _Last Night On Earth_.

* * *

It had been a struggle for Eli to convince the group to let her come at all. Her main argument was that Sam was Lucifer's vessel and he got to come on the suicide mission, and that the town would likely be filled with demons and they would need all the help they could get. Dean and Sam finally, and reluctantly, agreed, with the caveat that she not go anywhere near Lucifer, and Castiel stay by her at all times, to fly her out in case of emergency. "We're not going to hand him his vessel and his weapon at the exact same time," Dean had insisted.

Truthfully, Eli wanted to get a look at the creature that had the potential to control her fate. She wanted to fight, and not hide in her room like a child because of what might happen. All of this, it terrified her, but she firmly believed the only way to beat the enemy was to see it and understand, not run frightened. It was probably—well, okay, it was definitely - very stupid, but Sam was going and damnit, she would not be left behind. Not when she could help. Not at a moment like this, that could change all of history if it succeeded.

The ride was long and silent. Ellen and Jo nursed hangovers in the front seat, while Eli sat next to Castiel in the back and leaned her head against his shoulder. The angel had recently become a more publicly affectionate, perhaps realizing that they had nothing left to hide. Eli also couldn't shake the lingering feeling that he was using her as a lifeline in uncertain times, as if touching her kept him grounded in the knowledge that she was safe and right beside him.

He held her hand the whole way there, stroking her palm with his thumb. It conjured heated memories of the night before, of how Jo had drunkenly discovered that Castiel had never even heard of a hot-tub, and how Eli and Castiel had slipped away shortly after, to a vacant penthouse with a startlingly large one.

Her mind kept coming back to one moment. It had been about 3:00 am, when they were still damp and cooling, the long stretch of city lights twinkling silently outside of the window like earthbound stars. Both had been naked, Castiel perched at the edge of the large bed, Eli kneeling behind him, her fingers expertly kneading the stiff muscles of his neck and shoulders.

_('You're carrying around a millennia of tension,'_ _she had teased. He smiled slightly in the darkness._

_'This is my first massage,' he reminded her. She found a trigger point and gently moved her thumb against it, causing his head to drop and a slight groan to make its way from his chest._

_'First massage and first hot-tub…not a bad night,' Eli murmured, pressing a kiss to his damp hair, then another to the delicate shell of his ear. He smelled like shampoo and warm skin._

_'Perhaps our last night,' he said seriously, and she stilled her hands. He took the opportunity to turn and look at her, his voice a hoarse rasp. 'Do you still believe that we will not die?'_

_She looked at him, the blue of his eyes dimmed to a soft navy, his hair sticking up at all angles, the smooth plane of his chest. She ran a finger along his lower lip pensively. 'I don't know.'_

_'Do you still have faith?'_

_'I don't know,' she answered honestly, and Castiel nodded, something quiet and sad reflected in his eyes._

_'I don't know, either.')_

It was the first time she had ever heard him express real doubt, and there was something deeply jarring and terrifying about the simplicity of his statement. It worried her.

"Don't worry," his voice said quietly, and she jolted back to reality, into the cramped back seat of Ellen's car. "We will not die."

She gave him a side-long glance, not surprised that he had been able to discern exactly what she had been thinking about. "And why do you say that?"

He lowered his lips to her ear, and murmured in a voice so soft that only Eli could hear it: "I enjoyed the hot-tub far too much to never experience it again."

That actually made her laugh, a little, and blush, and he sat back, looking satisfied at having eased her tension.

"Don't ya'll know that whispering is rude?" Ellen's voice drawled from the front seat as the car slowed. "We're here."

Eli rolled down the window and peered at the desolate main street; the town was empty, newspapers blowing like tumbleweeds in the breeze. "We're gonna go check out the PD," Dean yelled as the Impala coasted to a stop beside them. "You guys stay here, see if you can find anybody."

"Okay," Ellen agreed, parking the car. Eli stepped out, Castiel appearing suddenly behind her, his hand resting lightly on her back, his face tense. He scanned the streets silently for a moment, turning his head as if spotting dozens of invisible items.

Eli could sense that something was there; there was a kind of weighted presence in the spaces around them, and the air seemed thick in certain spots, oddly immobile, but she couldn't quite see what it was. It pissed her off a little, not being able to see clearly, not being strong enough to even do that right.

"What is it, Cas?" Ellen asked. He continued to stare around, clearly perplexed.

"This town's not empty," he finally said. "Reapers."

"Reapers? As in more than one?" Ellen looked at Eli. "Can you see this too?"

Eli shook her head. "I can sense that something's there, but it's too undefined. I can't see, not like Cas can."

"They only gather like this at times of great catastrophe," Castiel said pensively. "Chicago Fire, San Francisco Quake, Pompeii. Excuse me, I need to find out why they're here."

"Cas!" Eli grabbed the edge of his jacket. "You can't just walk off like that. We're supposed to stay together, remember? I'll come with you."

He shook his head. "I can see them clearly, you can't. I'll return shortly." He squeezed her hand a little, then dropped it. "Don't worry. You'll be safe until my return."

Then he turned and walked away.

* * *

"Station's empty," Dean said, walking up to Ellen and Jo about half an hour later.

Jo nodded. "So's everything else."

"Have you seen Cas?" Ellen asked. "Or for that matter, Eli?"

"What?" Sam asked, looking around as if expecting them to pop up at any minute. "They were with you."

"Nope," Ellen said with a sigh. "Cas went after the reapers. When he didn't come back right away, Eli said she knew something was wrong and went after him."

"He saw reapers?" Sam asked nervously. "Where?"

"Well… kind of everywhere," Jo said with faked casualness.

Dean groaned. "Great. One hour in and we've lost both of our heavenly helpers. Great start to the day. I wonder where the hell they are?"

* * *

Castiel stood immobile in the ring of fire, watching the other person approach him. The man's face was silhouetted in the darkness, but Castiel could see past the vessel, would recognize that inner light anywhere, that corrupted holy aura. The sheer power. He felt a punch of fear in his gut but pushed it away, standing straight and raising his chin stoically, the fire throwing dancing shadows on his face.

"Lucifer," he said in a low voice.

Lucifer gave him a peaceful half-smile, his teeth shining white in the darkness. "So I take it you're here with the Winchesters," he said casually. Castiel struggled to keep his voice even.

"I came alone."

"Loyalty," Lucifer mused, and Castiel was unsure if there was admiration or derision in his voice. "Such a nice quality to see in this day and age. Castiel, right? Castiel, I'm told you came here in an automobile."

Castiel hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. "Yes."

"What was that like?" Lucifer asked, crossing his hands in front of him and tipping his head as if genuinely curious.

Castiel looked around with vague desperation, completely unnerved by this faux-casual conversation. The ring of fire around him was perfect; he hated feeling so trapped, scared, helpless. He wondered briefly if this was how humans felt all of the time, in their weak and easily breakable skins. Suddenly, as if remembering something important, he had a flare of relief that Eli had not accompanied him. She would have walked right into Lucifer's hands.

"Um. Slow," he finally said, remembering that a question had been asked of him. "Confining."

"What a peculiar thing you are," Lucifer said with amusement in his voice. He stepped into the fireglow, his skin strangely stretched tight against bone, sallow and purpled, faint traces of decay visible along his jaw and temple.

"What's wrong with your vessel?" Castiel asked, studying him. This was the first – and hopefully last – time he would ever get to see the devil up close, so he scrutinized him, feeling the push of his aura and the breadth of his power. Even confined in a human body, it was terrifying.

"Yes," Lucifer said lazily, poking at his skin as if it were an old dress. "Nick is wearing a bit thin, I'm afraid. He can't contain me forever, so—" He trailed off, smiling the secret smile of someone who knows they've already won.

"You—" Castiel started furiously, stepping forward, but balked at the fire blazing dangerously close to his legs. He could feel the heat scorch through his pants, smell the rancid old oil and sense the deep, dangerous magic that lay within it. He backed up a small step and glared into Lucifer's face. "You are not taking Sam Winchester. I won't let you."

"Is Sam Winchester really the one you're concerned about?" the devil asked shrewdly. Despite the heat, Castiel suddenly went cold, his blood freezing in his veins.

"What do you mean?" he rasped. Lucifer began to circle the ring of fire, keeping his gaze locked on Castiel's form.

"I know the Nephilim is in town, Castiel," he said conversationally. "Did you really think you could hide her from me? Especially when I have this?" He pulled something gleaming and silver out his pocket just enough that Castiel could see it, then winked and slid it back in. "Thoughtful of you, really, leading her right to me. Makes my job that much easier."

Castiel clenched his hands into fists. "You will never get your hands on her," he hissed.

"Hm. Rumor has it, you would know all about getting hands on her, wouldn't you?" Lucifer asked, and there was something a little more frigid in his tone. He stopped moving for a moment and leaned toward the fire, as close as he could get to Castiel, the light throwing eerie shadows on his rotting face. "I should warn you, Castiel, I don't like other children playing with my toys."

"She is not yours," Castiel spat.

"Oh, I think she is." Lucifer's voice was suddenly light again. He resumed his pacing around the fire, circling Castiel like he was a caged animal. "Or at least, very soon will be. It's…kismet." He paused, then sighed. "Oh, I know I must sound like a monster to you, Castiel. But I'm not the one you should be fighting. We're actually on the same side."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked cautiously.

"I rebelled, I was cast out. You rebelled, you were cast out. Almost all of heaven wants to see me dead, and if they succeed, guess what? You're their new public enemy number one. We're on the same side, like it or not, so why not just serve your own best interests? Which in this case just happen to be mine? As for the Nephilim, well…you won't be able to be together if heaven wins and the angel guard is gunning for your head. Join me, and I'll be tempted to… share her with you. Which goes against every inch of my nature, but there it is. Now how's that for brotherly love?"

"I'll die first," Castiel ground out, really meaning it. Lucifer looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

"I suppose you will. In fact, if you continue down this path, I'll make sure she's the one who kills you."

Just then the demon Meg rushed into the room, breathing heavily as if excited. "I got the Winchesters pinned down. For now, at least. What should I do with them?"

"Leave them alone," Lucifer said after a moment of thought. Meg sputtered angrily.

"I—I'm sorry, but are you sure? Shouldn't we—"

Lucifer reached over and cupped her face in his hands; beyond her pretty features, Castiel could see the demon underneath, rotted and twisted. He knew then that Crowley was right, about Lucifer hating demons, because Lucifer could see their true faces too and would have no other choice than to be disgusted by them.

"Trust me, child," he crooned. "Everything happens for a reason." Then he paused, dropping her face and surreptitiously wiping his palms on his pants. "And what of the Nephilim?"

"Looking for this bozo," Meg said with a sneer on her face, jerking her thumb to the trapped angel. Castiel felt a bolt of fear shoot through his system. Lucifer smiled warmly.

"Good. Make sure she gets to him, will you?" He paused, turning to Castiel, his face eerie in the flickering light. "And then make sure she can't get out again."

 


	8. The Bonds We Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, NSFWish, now with bonus angst!

 

 

Castiel escaped from the ring of holy fire just in time. He shoved Meg into the flames and walked over her back, taking perverse pleasure from her screams, then headed out the door, searching for Eli.

He found her at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by dead demons. "Cas!" she exclaimed, running up and nearly body-slamming him with her excitement. "I was worried! And then I came here, and the house was chock-full of demons…"

"I'm all right," he said soothingly, resting his chin on her head and breathing in. She had recently used her power and the smell lingered, not unlike ozone or the electrical charge of lightning: clean, static. He could feel her heart beating fast through his shirt. It was strange, but he wasn't even thinking of this body as a vessel anymore. Somehow, at some point, something had switched, making the skin he wore more him than Jimmy, and he marveled at how perfectly she fit against him, like they were made for each other. He knew it was horrible and irrational, but right then, despite the extreme danger and the house-full of dead demons, he wanted her, badly, so badly it shook him to the core.

"Lucifer was here," she said, lifting her face to look at him. He shook himself out of his thoughts, reluctantly stepping away. "I can feel him."

"Yes," he rasped throatily, not meeting her eyes. "It's not safe. We have to get to Sam and Dean."

Before she could say another word he placed two fingers on her forehead and they were gone, off to rescue the two brothers from the clutches of the devil.

* * *

When they returned to Bobby's house the mood was almost unbearably somber. Ellen and Jo had been killed. Bobby's normally stoic face was red with tears. Dean and Sam seemed barely able to function, walking around in circles and drinking beer like it was water, their eyes haunted.

Eli felt strangely numb. She was sad, of course, but it was more of a dull ache, out of place in the room of sharp, debilitating pain. Ellen and Jo had been like family to Bobby and the Winchesters; to Eli, they were acquaintances, good hunters, too young to die. She realized belatedly that she hadn't really known them at all.

Castiel had been looking at her strangely all night. His gaze barely left her face; it was a little too intense, piercing, blue eyes squinted and brow furrowed as if she were a puzzle he was trying to figure out. It unnerved her, this new concentrated look. She found herself wishing after a few hours that he would stare at something else for a while.

She was alone in the kitchen, rummaging for another beer, when he walked up behind her. "Are you all right?" he asked in a low voice. She stood and closed the fridge with her hip, noticing that his eyes followed it as she did so.

"Yeah," she said tiredly, leaning against the refrigerator and twirling the unopened bottle. "I don't know. It's like, I'm sad, but I didn't know them well enough and it makes me feel like…I'm not sad _enough_ , you know? Not like they are. Like I don't belong here right now."

He held out his hand to her. "Come with me," he said seriously.

She stared at him for a moment, tilting her head. "Are you all right, Cas? You've been weird all day."

"You said that you feel out of place," he said, a little stiffly, as if all of this was taking too long for his taste. "So we're going to leave. Take my hand."

Cautiously she put the beer on the counter-top and reached out to place her palm in his. It was warm, too warm, almost hot, the long fingers gripping her wrist desperately. Then the room dissolved and they were somewhere else.

It was a dark room, but beyond that Eli didn't know, because the moment they arrived his mouth slammed down on hers with a possessive ferocity, taking her breath away. He backed her into a wall, his hands coming up to grip her wrists and pin her there as his mouth ravaged hers.

"Cas," she finally gasped out as his lips moved to her throat, licking and biting his way down to her collarbone. His hands had left her wrists and were now working on the buttons of her shirt, then slipping inside to run along her skin. Her mind went blank, her body arching into his, tugging his trench coat and shirt off with urgency and running her tongue along the hot skin of his chest. It was when he was fumbling with the buttons on her jeans that she finally regained the power of speech. "What has gotten into you?"

He tugged her jeans down, waiting until she kicked them off, then raised her up higher and pressed himself flush against her, one hand burying itself in her hair as he pulled her mouth to his. Somehow his pants came off, and her underwear ended up in a ball on the floor. He slid a hand along her thigh, pulling one leg up to wrap around his waist. She was still in her bra and unbuttoned shirt.

"He said…" Castiel finally growled into her ear, his breath hot on her skin. "He told me you were his. But you're not. You're _mine_." The urgent possessiveness in his voice made her whole body shake. Her legs nearly gave out. He supported her by leaning into the wall and cupping her ass in his hand, lifting her gently; she responded by wrapping her leg tighter around his waist like they were dancing.

"Cas," she moaned softly, her voice very near a beg. She pressed herself closer to him but he didn't oblige, instead pulling slightly away to stare into her eyes.

"I need you to say it, Eli," he rasped. "Tell me."

She ran her hands through his dark hair, trailing her fingers to his jaw and cheeks. "Always," she whispered.

He kissed her bruisingly. "Swear it."

"I'm yours," she gasped, and he was finally inside of her. She cried out, digging her fingernails into his back, barely capable of coherent thought. "Oh, god, Cas, I swear, I've always been yours."

Then his mouth covered hers again and they didn't speak any more.

* * *

She awoke to someone kissing her softly in the dark, just the softest brush of lips. She smiled sleepily and stretched, the mattress soft under her back, amazed that they had made it to the bed at some point.

"Hello," she whispered, feeling the predawn stillness in the room and hating to disturb it with words. He smiled back at her.

"Hello, Elijah."

Eli shrieked and pulled away, fumbling with a sheet to cover herself as she nearly fell out of the bed and scrambled to stand near the window. "This is a dream," she gasped out, surveying the room, noting suddenly that it was _too_ still, too unreal, like being trapped in a photograph. Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

Lucifer smiled at her as he got out of the bed; she noted with extreme relief that he was fully clothed. "I'm afraid so. But I must say, this has taken a very long time. It's strangely difficult to get inside your noggin. You must have been…" He paused to leer at her sheet-covered figure. "Particularly exhausted last night."

"Go to hell," she ground out. He shrugged lazily, approaching her on soft feet.

"Been there, done that."

She merely glared at him. He continued to speak, as if blithely unaware of the seething waves of hatred radiating from her body. After a moment she realized that, this being a dream, she could control certain aspects. She closed her eyes, feeling with a rush of satisfaction as her clothes suddenly appeared and her hair went from sleep-tousled to pulled back from her face.

"You know, this is the first time I've ever seen you close up," he was saying, ignoring her sudden clothes change. "I can see what he sees in you. And all of that power, just roiling under the surface…now _that_ I like." He drew closer and her hands clenched into fists to stem the terrified shaking of her body. He peered at her, curious. "But there's something… _off_. What is it?" He frowned. "Oh, no. I warned him. I guess that's what you get for talking to a rebellious angel—they just don't listen. I should know."

"What are you talking about?" she asked coldly.

He tilted his head, smiling a little, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You said something to him last night, didn't you? Something that started with _I swear_?"

"So?" she snarled. He shook his head pityingly.

"Oh, Castiel. You little liar." He looked at her with sympathetic eyes. "He didn't tell you, did he? Swearing yourself among beings like us is not just a word. It's power, old power." He took another step and raised his hand; she flinched, but he just traced the air around her face with concentrated gestures. "I can feel it, the mark. Think of it like…a brand. You swear to someone and it's branded on you, on your soul. Forever. To do something like that to someone without telling them, that's just…evil."

"You're lying," she said in a shaky voice. "Cas wouldn't …he _couldn't_ … he's an angel, for Christ's sake!"

"Why does everyone always think I lie?" Lucifer asked, his tone long-suffering. "Bad publicity, that's what I suffer from. And remember, Elijah, he's a fallen angel. He's used to lying and sneaking around." He shoved his hands in his pockets casually, his slowly-rotting face pensive. "Been acting strangely lately? A little too…clingy? He's _using_ you, Eli."

"Shut up," she whispered. He continued without pause.

"He's so used to following someone, something. God, his superiors, his orders. Now he has nothing but…you. Something to hold on to in desperate times. You're _convenient_. He's desperate and you're available. Not exactly a match made in Heaven, now is it?"

"Shut UP!" she yelled, thrusting her arms outward to push him away, but he didn't move, just stood there smiling with that polite, eerie look on his face.

"I'm not the one you should be angry with, Eli. I'm just the messenger."

"What is this?" she snarled hotly. "You think if I'm not with him I'll come running to you? Are you that egotistical, you sadistic ginger bastard?"

He ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully. "Hm. I never had the thought. I'm just… doing my community service. One abomination to another. You're right, though."

She raised an eyebrow, waiting. He sighed leisurely, looking at his slowly rotting hands.

"This body, not the greatest. I think you'll like me a lot more when I'm in my true vessel. And here's a secret: little Sammy? He's just dying for it. Not like Jimmy Novak in there, wife and kid at home. Doesn't it just eat you up inside, knowing…"

She flared her hands with power and struck out, landing a punch to his cheekbone. He actually staggered backward, hand to his face. "Wow," he said after a moment, his tone bemused. "Nice uppercut. You do know how to work in dreams. Most people are powerless kittens. You…you're a tiger."

"I learned from the best," she said in an even voice, trying to stay in control. "Now get out of my head before I force you out."

He tilted his head slowly, looking very inhuman and very old. "Sleep well, Elijah."

Her eyes flew open.

The light around her was the same predawn glow it had been in the dream, but Eli knew she was awake. The light shifted and moved, air currents blew soft across her cheek, and the solid pervasiveness of reality surrounded her. She wanted nothing more than to sit up and scream, force out the anger and the fear that was flooding through her veins, but she did nothing. She just waited, and thought.

Castiel was lying next to her. His breathing was even but he wasn't sleeping – angels never slept. She could feel his heart beating steadily next to her cheek, his arm loped casually around her side. He didn't know that she was awake.

Quietly, motionlessly, Eli pulled at her power until she felt it tingle on her fingertips. She had never tried this before, but she needed it now, more than anything.

She let it gather strength. Then, with one swift movement, she jerked her arm up and placed two fingers against his forehead, letting it flow like electricity into him. She caught one glimpse of his startled blue eyes, and then they closed and he slumped against the bed, completely unconscious.

Eli dressed swiftly and disappeared out the door.

 


	9. All The Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues

 

 

" _Where are you, Dean?_ "

Dean switched the cell phone to his other hand and peered restlessly out the window. Outside cars crept by, choked by rush hour traffic. "I'm sorry, man, I really am. But I can't."

_"Why not?"_ The phone connection crackled and hissed with static.

"You know why not. I promised, okay? Just… give her a little time. She's pretty pissed. Whatever you did, it must have been a doozy."

_"I need to speak with her, Dean. It's important."_

"So call her."

_"I tried."_ The voice on the other end became frustrated. _"She won't answer my calls."_

Dean sighed and flopped on the old motel bedspread, staring at the ceiling. There was a huge watermark across it, and cracks riddled the plaster surface. "So use a different number," he said.

There was a pause. _"Oh."_

"So what happened between you two, Cas? It's a bitch not having our resident angel around." Dean waited for a response, but heard nothing. He sighed, shutting the phone and tossing it on the bed next to him before closing his eyes. "That guy has got to work on his goodbyes."

From the room next door, he heard a phone ring.

* * *

Eli's phone rang. She glanced at it, not recognizing the number, and flipped it open, propping it between her shoulder and ear. "Hello?" she asked, sitting on the bed and tugging off her boots.

_"We need to talk."_

She sighed in frustration. "Cas, I told you, I need time."

_"I don't even know what it is I did."_

"It's not exactly a phone conversation, okay?"

" _Fine. Just tell me where you are."_ His voice was becoming more and more stressed, and she could almost picture him running anxious hands through his dark hair.

She finished removing her boots and sat up angrily. "No. I'm hanging up now."

_"Eli, don't make me do this,"_ his voice nearly begged.

"Goodbye," she snapped, slamming the phone shut. She threw it on the bedside table and turned to walk to the bathroom, promptly running into someone's chest.

"What the hell?" she gasped. He grabbed her shoulders, preventing her from pulling away.

"We need to talk," he repeated firmly.

"Cas? How the hell did you find me?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Did Dean or Sam tell you where we were? I _told_ them…"

"They told me nothing," he said stiffly. He looked terrible: his trench coat wrinkled, bags under his eyes. It was very human and strangely comforting, to see him visibly stressed, like he was more real.

She jerked out of his grasp and put her hands on her hips. "Then how did you find me?"

He wouldn't meet her eyes. "It is not of import."

"Yes, it damn well _is_ of import!" Eli snapped, her voice rising. "I thought these rib-sigils were supposed to hide us from every angel in creation! If you can find us, then…" She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening, a sick feeling spreading through her stomach. "You didn't find us," she near whispered. "You found _me._ It's true, isn't it?" She glared at him, betrayal evidenced in every line of her face. "You…you _marked_ me in some way."

He looked at her with something akin to panic. "Who told you that?" he rasped uneasily.

"Does it matter?" she responded, backing up slightly. She felt like she couldn't breathe around him, so great and stifling were her raging emotions. "It's true, isn't it?"

"We are…" Castiel looked around as if searching for the words, or an escape. "Connected," he finally finished.

"You son of a bitch," Eli growled. "You did something to me and you didn't even tell me."

"You said the words," he said, suddenly defensive. He looked her in the eye and took a step forward, nearly blocking her between the bed and the wall. "I have done nothing that you did not agree to. That you did not _want_."

"Fuck you," she said, close to tears. "You don't _do_ something like that without telling the person! God, Castiel, you don't brand someone and not say a word! I didn't ask for this!"

"Yes, you did," he insisted, coming closer. She held up her hands to stop him, shaking her head.

"You…you were just _afraid._ Afraid of Lucifer, of what he said to you, and you thought you could just…you didn't even think about what I wanted. You didn't think about me at all. You selfish, insecure bastard!"

"Lucifer will not have you," he said darkly. She stepped forward, her whole stance trembling with anger, but her words were cold, almost calm.

"Keep going down this path," she hissed. "And neither will you."

He stared at her in shock, his blue eyes huge and wounded, mouth suddenly very young and delicate. "I just…" he started lamely, but the door opened and Dean strode in.

"Cas! I thought I heard your dulcet tones. We need to talk."

Castiel dropped his head, his hands shaking at his sides. "Not now, Dean."

"Yes, now," Dean said irritably. "Your little domestic drama can wait. I've had a visit from Anna."

The room went deathly silent. Then Castiel turned around and said, in a terribly controlled voice: "Tell me everything."

* * *

"I've found her," Castiel announced, straightening and stepping away from the table with its holy symbols and flaming bowl of oil. Eli leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the whole thing through narrowed eyes. He looked so tired and beaten, but still beautiful; at that moment she wanted nothing more than to walk over and pull him into her arms. She hated being angry with him, hating feeling so betrayed, but all she could think of was that he had done the same kind of thing that Michael had done to her mother: deceived her, taken something from her without her knowing. It made her feel sick.

Castiel told them that Anna was in 1978, ready to kill the Winchester parents to prevent the birth of Sam. "Anna can't get to you because of me," he explained in patient tones, and she realized with a pang how much she had missed the sound of his voice over the past weeks. "So she's going after them."

"Take us back right now," Dean demanded immediately.

"And deliver you right to Anna?" Castiel scoffed, shaking his head. "I should go alone."

"They're our parents. Cas, we're going," Dean insisted.

Castiel sighed, turning as if to pace, but his eyes locked with Eli's and he quickly turned back around. "It's not that easy. Time travel was difficult even with the powers of heaven at my disposal."

"Which got cut off," Sam finished unnecessarily.

"So, what," Dean asked, raising an eyebrow, "you're like a DeLorean without enough plutonium?"

"I don't understand that reference," Castiel snapped, and Eli had to struggle to keep a smile from her face at his frustrated tones. She knew how the brothers' constant cultural references baffled him, and it was oddly endearing. "But I'm telling you, taking this trip, with passengers no less…" He shook his head, clearly against the whole idea. "It'll weaken me."

"What if I help?" Eli finally said, pushing herself off of the wall and walking over to join the conversation. All of them turned to look at her, Castiel not meeting her eyes. "I've got heavenly juice too, right? Like extra battery power." She turned to Castiel, addressing him for the first time. "You can use it? To help get us there?"

He was silent for a moment. "I'm not sure," he said. "It might help, but the added stress of an extra person might negate the positive effects of your, uh…juice."

"We can try, can't we?" she asked, looking at the brothers as if for permission. "I say the more the merrier."

"I'm in," Dean said immediately. Sam nodded his consent.

Finally Castiel sighed, letting his shoulders sag with resignation. "We'll need some supplies."

They packed holy oil and an angel-killing blade in a duffel bag and stood in a circle. Castiel shot a nervous glance at Eli. "I'll…I'll have to take your hand," he said, almost apologetically.

Eli nodded, her face impassive, and slipped her hand into his. It felt so familiar and comforting and _normal_ that she almost cried, especially when he squeezed it a little in reassurance. "Just clear your mind," he said softly. "I'll do the rest."

Eli took a deep breath and tried to make her mind blank. It was hard work, especially when there were so many things she wanted to say to the angel beside her and when the smell of him was washing over her senses for the first time in weeks, so clean and golden and warm. Then a feeling, like the tingle of electricity, spread over her whole body, and for a moment she really did feel like a giant battery, being drained, plugged into a socket and lit up like a Christmas tree. It felt strange, very personal, like an electric hug.

There was a jolt, and they were gone.

* * *

They appeared in the middle of the street, traffic swerving wildly to avoid them. Eli felt like she had been rolled over by a cement truck. Her mouth was dry, her head pounded and her stomach heaved, but she was in one piece, and conscious, so that was something.

The brothers helped rush her over to the sidewalk. "You okay?" Dean asked. She nodded, wiping a bit of blood from her nose.

"Peachy. Gimme some aspirin and I'll be fine. Did we make it? Where's Cas?"

"Unless they're bringing Pintos back into production, I'd say we made it," Dean said, pointing to a passing car. "As for the angel on our shoulder…" He looked around, finally catching sight of a figure slumped against a car. "Aw, shit."

"What?" Eli looked up and immediately rushed to him. "Cas? Hey, wake up." She placed her hand against his cheek, nothing absently that he was colder than usual. His nose was bleeding too, but much more than hers had been.

Suddenly his eyes flew open and he struggled to stand, limbs flailing weakly. "Take it easy. Take it easy," Dean said, catching him by the shoulders as he was about to fall. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said groggily. "I'm much better than I expected." He looked at Eli and she realized with sudden clarity that he hadn't used as much of her power as he could have. She felt a wave of mixed emotions – frustration, anger, affection, worry – and gripped his hand.

"You stupid ass," she muttered in a low voice. He stared at her blearily for a moment, then leaned over, coughed up blood, and promptly passed out.

"Cas?" Sam asked nervously, shaking him a little. He put a hand in front of the angel's mouth. "He's breathing. Sort of. What do we do?"

"I'll stay with him," Eli insisted. The brothers looked at her in consternation.

"We could really use your help in this, Eli," Sam started, but she cut him off.

"Just for an hour, just until I know he'll be okay. Then I'll catch up with you, I promise." She held her fingers up in the 'Scout's Honor' symbol. "Just … help me with him, okay?"

They hauled his unconscious figure to the nearest hotel and dropped him off. Sam scribbled down the address of his parent's house and pressed it into her hand.

"One hour," she promised as the door closed. "Just… don't get into any trouble for one hour."

When they were gone she leaned against the door, staring at the figure on the bed. Finally she shook herself out of her shock and went to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and draping it over his forehead. He looked so weak and pale lying there, almost dead, and she had to choke back tears.

"Don't you think," she whispered to his sleeping face, sinking down on the bed next to him and stroking his limp hair, "that just because you have one little near-death experience that I'm going to forgive everything you've done." He didn't respond. She laid her head against his chest, feeling his weakened heartbeat, and closed her eyes. "Okay, I lied. Wake up, Cas. Just come on and wake up."

Then, in a very small voice: "I love you."

The angel slept on.

* * *

"You don't understand," Mary said, resting one hand on her still-flat stomach and marveling in a disconnected, horrified sort of way that the two men standing before her were her future children, begging her to leave so that they would never be born. "I can't. It's too late. I'm...I'm pregnant."

There was a moment of silence. Then the door banged open, startling everyone. Sam and Dean immediately stepped forward to protect Mary. John came running out of the next room, looking nervous and terrified as someone ran through the door.

"Wait!" Dean called, holding his hand out to John, who was moving swiftly toward the sigil he had drawn in his own blood. "It's okay, she's with us." Then, turning to her, he hissed: "One hour, huh? Where the hell have you been?"

Eli glared at him, closing the door behind her. "I _was_ only an hour. You guys were already gone, with no forwarding address. Do you know how hard it was to find you? Next time you ditch the plan in a world with no cell phones, pick up a goddamned pen and _let me know._ "

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Mary asked weakly. She glanced at Dean with huge eyes, wondering for a brief moment if the blonde-haired girl in the leather jacket was her future daughter. "She's not, ah…like you, is she?"

"No," Dean answered, glancing at his mother. "Sorry, it's just us. She's a … friend."

"How did you find us, anyway?" Sam asked. Eli paused from her inspection of the sigils, a frown wrinkling her brow.

"Angel Radio. There's some big talk going down, and no one is blocking it from me. Seems like Anna made a little call to an old friend, convinced him to come to earth and take a vessel." She gave them a meaningful look, her fingers twitching restlessly near her guns. "Uriel."

"Shit," Dean cursed. "Just what we need."

"You know," Eli said conversationally, gesturing to the sigils. "You use these, my mind gets blown away, and then I'm not much use to anyone."

"They're a last resort," Sam said, a touch apologetically. "We're running out of options."

"You don't have to stay here if you don't want to," Dean griped in a sarcastic tone, starting to pace the room restlessly, his boots clunking on the floor.

"Yeah right, jackass," she shot back.

"Wait a minute," Mary said, holding up her hands in confusion. "Are you… are you an angel?" She looked like she was holding her breath; despite the danger angels were posing to her, there was still something close to reverence on her pretty face.

Eli sighed. "Sorry, lady. Far from it."

"Hey, we got a problem," John said suddenly, tracing his hand along the wall with trembling fingers. "Those blood things, the sigils—they're gone. Look. This one here— it was fine a second ago, and I turned around. And when I looked back again, it was a smudge."

Sam joined him by the wall, inspecting it with narrowed eyes. "He's right."

Mary crouched to the floor and touched it experimentally. After a moment she stood up, shaking her head, abject fear evident in her voice despite her best efforts to stay cool and collected. "There's no more holy oil."

Just then, Uriel burst in.

* * *

Afterward, Eli would only remember bits and pieces, like sorting through photographs in her mind instead of watching a video. There was a fight. Uriel threw John bodily through the window. Sam tried to fight Uriel and was badly wounded, crumpling to the floor in a heap of limbs and the dark stain of blood spreading thickly outward from his stomach. Anna approached Mary, all dark, sad determination, and then John reappeared, sent Uriel away, and fried Anna to a crisp.

But it wasn't John. That was why Eli's memories were so fragmented, so unreal: they all paled and vanished in comparison to that one moment, the moment he stepped into the room, the moment she felt his golden glow and _knew._

She knew, like a magnet, like the blood pumping in her veins. The power he emitted didn't even shake her bones like that of the other Archangels; it was sweeter, like a song, vibrating throughout her body, connecting her as if with a cord to the being in front of her.

Him. The Archangel Michael. Her father.

He spoke with Dean first, telling him about his destiny, how it was foolish to fight it because free will was an illusion. Eli didn't care about any of this. In fact, she could barely hear it at all, so loud was her heartbeat in her ears. He shone golden to her, his true form spreading like tendrils of energy from John's body, warming her, burning away the anger and the hatred she had held onto for so long, the way the sun burns away the last traces of rain after a storm.

Finally, after healing Sam and sending him back home, he turned to her, and the blue of John's eyes was blinding and unreal. "Elijah," he said softly, stepping toward her. "This is a rare honor. I have been waiting so long to meet you."

She licked her lips nervously, her throat dry. "You…you're…" She couldn't bring herself to say the words. He smiled patiently, coming up to brush her cheek with the back of his hand.

"I am half of you," he said with clear affection in his voice. "My child, you are beautiful. Your light is so very strong."

"Wait a minute, Eli hasn't even been born yet," Dean interrupted angrily, arms crossed and face belligerent. "She won't be for five years. And how could you even know…"

"I know about you, don't I?" Michael asked, dropping his hand from her face and turning to Dean. "For a being like me, time is not linear. Every moment in existence touches every other moment. I can see them all. I have known for eons that Elijah would be born."

"I thought I was an accident," Eli whispered, unable to tear her gaze from his glowing form. He smiled at her benevolently.

"Nothing in life in an accident, Elijah. It might not be part of the plan but it is not an accident."

"So what, you're gonna pop down again in a couple of years and take some other poor schmuck?" Dean asked.

"I have come to this plane of existence; I have righted a potential wrong in the makings of history. For the next years, heaven will be quiet, awaiting the apocalypse with anticipation. I have…leave to wander the earth. Five years is nothing, just a few moments to me. There are more descendants of Cain and Abel that exist, not destined vessels, but with the proper bloodline. They will let me in, briefly, to see their world, and I will leave before any permanent damage is done."

"Bloodlines?" Eli asked, shooting a glance at Dean. He met her eyes. They seemed to have the same thought at the same time. "Does that mean that the Winchesters and I are…related?"

Michael smiled a little. "Only in the sense that all humans are related. The bloodlines are old, stretching back to the birth of mankind. You are not family."

Suddenly he peered at Eli, moving in a bit closer, his head tilted to the side and his eyes like x-rays. "You, Elijah, have a mark," he said softly. Then his voice hardened. "An angelic mark. Who did this to you?"

"You stay out of my head, buddy," Eli snapped, regaining her senses and stepping back. Like someone had doused her in cold water all of her old anger and bitterness came rushing into her head, dulling the light and the sense of connection that they shared. "I guess you don't know everything, huh? Well, Archangel or not, Father or not, you raped my mother. I have nothing more to say to you."

"How can you say that?" he said, his voice patient, like talking to a pouting child. "Your mother will know nothing, she will not be harmed. Quite the opposite. She will become healthy, strong, happy. She will have you. And you are a part of me. Can't you feel the glow? We are connected. We are family, and that is stronger than anything else on heaven and earth."

"Doesn't seem to be strong enough to keep you from killing your own brother," Eli said coldly. "And between you me, I choose my family. The people who are there for me. You? You're just the douche who knocked up my mom."

His face darkened slightly. "I see the Winchester influence is rubbing off on you," he said. "Perhaps you and I should speak privately." An instant later Dean had vanished, leaving Eli alone in a house in the past with her angelic Father.

Once Dean was gone Michael turned back to her with a beatific look on his face. "Now. Elijah. This is important." He paused for a moment, studying her face intently.

"Spit it out," Eli said, shifting impatiently on her feet. She wondered how Cas was doing, if he was okay, if he had woken up. If he was even going to wake up. She wanted him by her side now more than ever, his hand clasped in hers, lending her his warmth and strength.

"You need to take the grace," he finished. "I know that you have your objections but it is the only way to ensure that events will occur the way that they are destined to. You know, deep inside of you, that I am right. Come with me. Become an angel and fight by my side. No one will harm you, or question you, or call you an abomination ever again. You just need to trust me."

"Sorry, pal, but I don't," she hissed. "You have given me no reason to trust you."

"I am the reason you are alive," he said ominously. "Because I believe that in the end you will make the right choice. They could have killed you at birth. But you are my child. I want you next to me, in heaven."

"I thought there was no choice," Eli said shrewdly. "No chance. No belief. Just destiny. Isn't that what you've been spouting the whole time? How you know everything that was and ever will be?"

He hesitated for the slightest of moments. "As the apocalypse approaches, the threads of time are…obscured. Changing. For the first time in eons, we have to exist on hope."

"So Sam and Dean could change their destinies?" Eli asked. Michael shook his head.

"No. Their destiny is written in stone. Unchangeable. Yours is not. But I have to believe that you will make the right choice."

"But you _don't_ know, and that's what's important. You know what I think? I think the time-space continuum is a bitch. Ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff. But that means that there is free will, like it or not. Destiny or not. So I say, blow me, _dad._ I'm not taking your grace and I'm not fighting by your side."

"You will change your mind," he said, but there was a waver of uncertainty buried in his confidence. "Or you will destroy us all."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see then, won't we?" Eli asked. Michael sighed.

"Goodbye, Elijah. I'll see you again when you make your choice." He reached out his fingers and pressed them to her forehead.

"Wait!" she cried, trying to jerk back. "I can't leave. There's someone…"

She was too late. The room dissolved, and she was back at the motel. Sam was stretched on the bed, completely healed. Dean was pacing anxiously. It seemed that only seconds had passed since they originally left.

"Eli!" Dean exclaimed, coming to a stop in front of her. "Are you all right? Where's Cas?"

Eli bit her lip and tried to keep her voice from cracking. "Still back there. He got left behind."

The brothers shared a worried look, but stayed mercifully silent. Eli lay down on the bed, shoes still on, closed her eyes, and waited.

He appeared a few hours later, blood running copiously from his nose, his eyes dazed and slightly crossed. He stumbled into Dean's arms, mumbled in disoriented surprise that he had made it back in one piece, then promptly collapsed again. Eli had the brothers take him to her room, where she removed his trench coat and shoes, cleaned his bloody face, and once again draped a cool towel across his burning forehead.

When Castiel finally awoke she was curled up against his side, her cheek pressed into his chest. He shifted slightly, his whole body aching, surprised to find her there. For a moment he thought it was a hallucination, a pleasant dream of her, but then his fingers brushed her soft hair and he knew she was real.

Eli sat up and scanned his face, her green eyes flush with worry. "Oh, thank God," she murmured, combing her fingers through his dark hair. "How are you feeling?"

"I am… conscious," he said groggily, shifting a little to prop himself in a half-sitting position against the pillows. She moved with him, wrapping an arm around his chest and leaning her head against his shoulder. "I don't understand," he said, listening to the sound of her quiet, reassuring breathing. "I thought…are you not angry with me anymore?"

Eli sighed and lifted her eyes to his, noting how lovely and deeply blue they were when shadowed with relief and confusion. "No. Yes. I mean…" She took a deep breath. "What you did was wrong. You understand that, right? You get why it was wrong?"

He nodded slightly, his head pounding; it was an odd feeling, pain, something he was not used to. Eli noticed his squint of discomfort and placed a cool hand against his forehead, immediately dissipating the feeling. "I…regret deeply what I have done. I was afraid. I am not used to being afraid and I…" He licked his dry lips nervously. "I panicked. I did not want to lose you. I did not want the future that Dean saw come to pass."

A look of relief passed over her face. "I'm glad to see the angelic sociopathic tendencies are fading."

"So…" he said hesitantly, groping for an answer. "So you're _not_ angry with me?"

"I was. Very. But you nearly died today. Again. And I've come to realize…I truly believe…" Eli was almost unable to force the words out of her mouth. "We're going to die. All of us. I can feel it in my bones. And I don't want my last weeks on earth to be without you."

"That is not definite," he said stubbornly. "Not yet."

She leaned her cheek against his chest again, feeling his arm come around her, his hand resting near the pulse at the crook of her arm. "Yes," she said softly, breathing in his white shirt, miraculously still clean. "It is."

They were silent for a long time. Castiel thought that she had fallen asleep. Finally, in a very small voice, Eli murmured: "I would have said yes."

"What?" he asked cautiously. She lifted her head a little, pushing a curtain of blonde hair away from her face, careful not to meet his eyes.

"Had you asked," she said, still very quietly. "I would have said yes. I would have bound myself to you. Forever. Willingly. Without hesitation."

"Oh."

They lapsed back into silence. There was nothing else to say.

 


	10. My Bloody Valentine

 

"You know, we look like we're on a double date," Eli said with a slightly malicious smile. "You two make quite the cute couple."

She was sitting next to Castiel and across from Sam and Dean in a fancy restaurant on Valentine's day, looking for, of all things, a Cupid gone rogue. Dean scowled and made a covert inappropriate hand gesture in her direction, but the truth was that they did look like they were on a romantic double-date: the table dotted with heart-shaped confetti, the boys in jackets and ties, and Eli in a short black dress with her hair swept up. She was even wearing soft makeup, with the result that Castiel had barely looked away from her all night.

It was moments like this, like when they had been stuck inside of the television shows, that Eli realized how utterly crazy her life was. A half-angel and her fallen-angel lover, across from the vessel of the devil and his brother, the vessel of the Archangel Michael (who also happened to be her father), in the middle of the apocalypse, waiting to kill a Cupid. On Valentine's Day. It felt like the setup to some extremely complicated bad joke.

"Have you been reading slash fanfiction again?" Sam asked wearily, picking at his salad. Eli winked at him.

"There's a website up called _So Wrong It's Right_. They have a name for it now, too…"

"Please, don't," Dean moaned.

"Wincest," she finished gleefully, snorting into her pasta.

Castiel looked around the table, perplexed. "I…don't understand this conversation," he finally said, making Eli laugh harder.

"It's okay," she said, patting his shoulder. "I'll tell you later."

"No, you won't," Dean growled. He had barely touched his burger and was looking at it with vague disinterest. Eli decided to be merciful and let the matter drop.

Somewhere in the middle of a conversation about Wolverine vs. Spiderman ("Wolverine, of course," she scoffed. "Adamantium claws, hello?") Eli felt Castiel's hand on her thigh. She stiffened in surprise. The angel had been more publicly physical as of late, but it was always regulated to a soft brush of fingers against her arm or a hand pressed lightly on her back. Not like now, his hand very warm and creeping higher up her bare leg under the table, until it was almost past her dress.

She kicked his chair. _"What are you doing?"_ she hissed quietly, glad the brothers were enmeshed in their own conversation. He jerked his hand away guiltily.

"I am sorry," he said in a soft voice, sounding a little confused. "I…don't know what came over me."

"Yo, Cas," Dean said loudly, oblivious to their whispered confrontation. "We've been here half an hour and nothing. You sure the Cupid's gonna be here? What, you just happen to know he likes the cosmos at this place?"

Castiel looked relieved at the distraction. "This place is a nexus of human reproduction," he said stiffly. "It's exactly the kind of garden the Cupid will come to … to pollinate." He finished the sentence with a slight blush on his cheekbones. Eli thought it was just adorable.

Dean sighed and pushed his burger away. "Wait a minute," Sam said in a worried voice. "You're not hungry?" He shared a look with Eli and she raised her eyebrows and shrugged. Truthfully, she was worried too. Dean facing down all kinds of demons, monsters, and angels, she was okay with. Dean not eating? That was trouble.

"I'm not hungry," he said distractedly, scanning the room as if he expected the Cupid to pop up out of nowhere.

Eli was even more surprised at the sound of Castiel's voice, sounding oddly excited. "So you're not going to eat that?"

As one, they all turned to stare at him. After a moment Dean gave a jerky 'go ahead' signal and Castiel eagerly pulled the burger to his side of the table, picking it up and preparing to take a bite. Eli just stared at him with an open mouth.

Suddenly he dropped the burger back onto the plate. "He's here," he announced quietly, staring at a spot a few tables over. The three hunters instinctively turned to look. Sam and Dean saw nothing, but Eli could sense the hazy outline of light and warmth, very weak, nothing like the fiery strength of the warrior angels she was used to coming into contact with.

"I don't see anything," Sam complained. Castiel nodded pointedly to the spot where he was staring.

"There."

The Cupid's presence had caused a light wind to pick up, magically ruffling the sparkly heart decorations that hung from the ceiling. On the other side of the room, a couple began ferociously making out.

"You mean the same-side-of-the-booth couple over there?" Dean asked skeptically.

"Meet me in the back," ordered Castiel, and he was gone. Dean sighed.

"I…"

"Hate it when he does that, we know," Eli said, shrugging on her jacket and standing. "Shall we, gentlemen?"

* * *

They found Castiel outside, holding up one hand with splayed fingers as if grasping something that wasn't there.

"Cas, where is he?" Dean asked, looking around, his hand nervously straying to the knife in his belt.

"I have him tethered," Castiel said in a voice of great concentration. He chanted in Enochian under his breath, finally insisting: "Manifest yourself."

"I love it when he's all demanding," Eli breathed to Dean. He turned to her, scowling.

"You seriously have to stop saying that stuff," he grumbled. "It's freakin' weird."

"So, where is he?" Sam asked restlessly, just as Dean was enveloped in a very big, very naked hug.

"Here I am!" a gleeful voice called out, squeezing Dean tight.

"Help!" he whimpered. Sam and Eli were torn, unsure if this was an attack or simply a…cuddle attack.

"Ooh, help is on the way!" the Cupid cooed happily. "Yes it is, yes it _is_." The naked man spotted Castiel and rushed him, wrapping his hairy arms around the petrified angel. "Hello, you!"

"This is Cupid?" Dean asked, dazed. Castiel's eyes were nearly popping out of his head at the force of the hug. Eli began to giggle uncontrollably.

"Yes," the angel wheezed. The Cupid finally dropped him, running now at Sam with a huge, dopy smile on his face. Sam shook his head, backing away, but the Cupid caught him and snuggled him with a sigh of contentment.

"Is this a fight?" Dean asked frantically. "Are we in a fight?"

The Cupid turned his attention to Eli. "Last but not least!" he sang out, nearly skipping over to her. Eli stopped giggling and held her hands out warningly, but he batted them away and hugged her with a bone-crushing grip.

"Too naked!" she gasped out. "You're too naked to be hugging people!"

"I'm just in the clothes God gave me," he said smilingly, finally stepping away from her cringing form.

"This is their…handshake," Castiel explained dully. Dean shot him a look.

"I don't like it!" he exclaimed, his voice going up several notches. Castiel's tone was long-suffering, as if he had been through this before.

"No one likes it."

The Cupid sighed in deep contentment and turned to Castiel with a dreamy look on his pudgy face. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Put some clothes on?" Eli suggested.

"We want to know why you're doing it," Castiel said, ignoring her. The Cupid scratched his head, looking like a large, naked teddy bear.

"Doing what?"

The Cupid was genuinely confused; even without the ability to read minds, Eli could tell that he was harmless. There was just no way this big child-like oaf was responsible for the slaughter of innocents. He, of his own admission, "loved love," and would never go out of his way to corrupt it. He even started to weep when they suggested the possibility, though it was almost— _almost—_ worth it to see Castiel attempt to comfort the teary naked cherub.

"You said you were just following orders?" Dean asked. Cupid nodded. "Whose orders?"

Eli raised an eyebrow, noting how Dean sounded oddly outraged at the cherub's preternatural happiness and joy.

Cupid laughed. "Heaven, silly, heaven. All angels have the ability to mark humans but we cherubs—" He paused to puff out his bare chest with pride. "We're the only ones who have it as a job." He turned to Castiel, wagging a finger at him. "And don't think I can't see the brand you put on this little lady here." He wrapped an arm around Eli, squeezing her affectionately. "She's lit up like a Christmas tree. I'm always telling you warrior-angels that you need more love in your lives."

"Brand?" Sam asked cautiously. Eli's face turned bright red as she struggled to get out of the Cupid's grip. Castiel opened his mouth to try and defuse the situation but Cupid plowed right on, oblivious to the awkwardness.

"Oh yes, angelic markings. Very powerful stuff. Looks like these two are, well…" He raised his eyes to the sky and spread his arms expansively, finally allowing Eli to escape. "Mated for life." He sighed happily, turning back to them. "Heaven's not too happy about it, but I love to see love conquer all."

Eli cleared her throat. "Let's, uh…get back to the conversation at hand," she said in a hoarse voice. There was a moment of silence as the two brothers stared at her. " _Please_ ," she added.

"Yeah, fine," Dean mumbled, turning his attention back to the cherub. "So why does heaven care if Harry met Sally?" he asked, aggressively stepping toward the naked man.

"Oh, mostly they don't," Cupid said merrily. "You know, certain bloodlines, certain destinies. Oh, like yours." He beamed at the brothers.

"What?" Dean said in a voice that suggested he was trying very hard to stay calm.

"Yeah, the union of John and Mary Winchester," the Cupid said, nodding deeply. " _Very_ big deal upstairs, top priority arrangement."

"Are you saying that you fixed up our parents?" Dean snapped hotly. The angel, oblivious to the danger the older Winchester was radiating, continued blathering happily.

Eli blanched when he called them a _perfect couple_ , then again when he began to sing. She knew what was coming, could feel Dean's bubbling anger, how close he was to erupting, so she turned and slowly walked back into the restaurant, not even seeing Dean's fist connect to the cherub's face.

* * *

"Whoa!" Dean exclaimed a few hours later as he and Sam popped open the briefcase Sam had confiscated from a demon. A bright light shone out of it for a moment, then flared and zipped away, leaving the case empty.

"What the hell was that?" Sam asked, looking around him wildly, as if to see the light lurking someplace in the room. From the bathroom, the sound of softly running water could be heard.

"It's a human soul."

The brothers turned to see Castiel standing there, a White Castle bag in his hand. "It's starting to make sense," he continued, digging in the bag for a foil-wrapped burger and opening it.

"What about that makes sense?" Dean asked, eyeing the bizarre sight. "And when did you start eating?"

Castiel nodded, taking a bite and waving the rest of the burger at them to emphasize his point. "Exactly. My hunger – it's a clue, actually."

"For what?" they asked simultaneously, watching him dig in.

"This town is not suffering from some love-gone-wrong effect," Castiel said through a mouthful of burger. "It's suffering from hunger. Starvation. To be exact…Famine."

"Famine?" Dean asked in a voice that clearly conveyed _Oh no, not this again_.

"As in, the horseman?" Sam clarified.

"Great," Dean moaned, covering his face with his hands. "That's fucking great."

"I thought famine meant starvation, like as in, you know, food," Sam pointed out, leaning against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets, face thoughtful.

"Yes, absolutely," Castiel said, nodding enthusiastically and taking another bite of burger. "But not just food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something – sex, attention…"

"Well, that explains the puppy-lovers cupid shot up," Dean said thoughtfully, unconsciously mimicking his brother as he leaned against the wall and hooked his thumbs on his belt.

"Right," Castiel confirmed. "The cherub made them crave love, and then Famine came, and made them rabid for it."

"Okay, but what about you?" Dean asked, eyeing the binging angel. "I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?"

Castiel sighed and stared at his burger contemplatively. "It's Jimmy," he said with resignation. "His appetite for red meat has been touched by Famine's effect."

The sound of running water stopped.

"So Famine just rolls into town and everyone goes crazy?" Dean asked, sounding both skeptical and exhausted.

Castiel began to eat again, talking through his food. "' _And then will come Famine, riding on a black steed_.'"He finished quoting and paused, tilting his head and scanning the room. "By the way, where is Eli? It is possible that all of you have, or will be, effected by Famine."

Dean subtly moved to stand in front of the closed bathroom door. "Ah, look, Cas, I don't know, it might not be a good time for you to see her, what with the Famine and all." He nodded pointedly to the half-eaten burger in Castiel's hand.

"What?" he asked, confused, but then understanding dawned on his face. "Oh no, you don't have to worry. I'm being affected by my vessel. It's a human weakness that is causing the hunger. My angelic nature will remain immune to Famine."

Dean and Sam shared a skeptical look, but said nothing.

The bathroom door opened. "Oh, hey Cas," Eli said cheerily, walking towards the closest bed in comfortable clothes, casually drying her hair with a towel. "The hot water in my room doesn't work so I thought I'dummphhh!"

The moment she exited the bathroom Castiel had dropped his burger on the ground and strode over to her, pushing her against the wall and covering her mouth with his.

"Mmphh, ahh…" Eli managed to shove him slightly away but he just turned his attention to her neck, his hands roaming her body with abandon. "Uh, Cas? What is going on? Not that I mind the enthusiasm but there are people in the room…um…could you get off? Cas?" The angel made a low, inarticulate noise in the back of his throat and pinned her closer to the wall, doing something with his teeth to her neck that felt good but was sure to leave a mark later. She looked over his shoulder with wide eyes. "Guys? A little help here?"

Dean just stood there, looking like he was torn between laughing hysterically and freaking out. Sam was finally the one to push himself off the wall, grab the back of Castiel's trench coat, and haul him bodily off of Eli.

"Damnit, Cas, what is it with you and pushing me into walls?" she snapped as soon as she could breathe again, tugging embarrassedly at her clothing and smoothing her damp hair back into place.

The angel shook his head like he was coming out of a trance, and his eyes cleared. "What…" he started, looking around at the three faces staring at him. "Oh. _Oh_. Forgive me. I suppose I am… more affected by Famine than I realized." He looked at the ground, shamefaced.

"Famine?" Eli asked sharply. "Like the horseman? But I thought that was just with hunger?"

"Yeah, well, hunger doesn't just mean food, apparently," Dean said. Eli's face turned brilliant red.

"Famine's hungry," Castiel said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, still looking at the ground. "He must devour the souls of his victims."

"So that's what was in the briefcase – the twinkie-dude's soul?" Dean asked, watching the angel cautiously. Eli stood very still, listening, a little unsure as to what was going on, replaying what had just happened in her mind and blushing, her freckles tinted red. Castiel risked glancing at her for a split second and instantly regretted it; he found the flush spreading over her cheeks to be almost irresistibly adorable. He just wanted to cup her face in his hand and run his mouth over her…

No. No no no. He stared at the floor fiercely, trying desperately to fight Famine's influence. "Lucifer has sent his demons to care for Famine, to feed him, make certain he'll be ready." His voice came out harsh and stilted.

"Ready for what?" Sam asked. Castiel turned his eyes to him, eager for the distraction.

"To march across the land."

"So, what, this whole town is just gonna eat, drink, and screw itself to death?" Dean asked incredulously.

Castiel blanched at the word _screw_. "We…we should stop it," he stuttered lamely, shoving his hands in his coat pockets and returning his gaze to the ground. Even when he was not looking he could feel her, feel the mark he had branded on her soul as if it was burning, calling to him.

"Yeah, that's a great idea," Dean said in a sarcastic voice. "How are we gonna do it?" He paused, waiting. Castiel continued to stare at the ground. "Cas!" he finally barked. "Eyes up here!"

Eli cleared her throat. "Maybe…maybe I should leave. You guys can fill me in on the game plan later, okay?" She edged out of the room, catching Castiel's eye for one brief second. His pupils were unnaturally dilated and his hands were shaking slightly, like a junkie dying for a fix. She tore her gaze away and hurried outside.

He watched her go. It was painful, physically painful to stand there and let her leave when every fiber of his being was screaming at him to follow her and finish what he started, to pull her to him and feel how soft her skin was against his, and taste her mouth, and hear his named moaned breathily…

"Cas! How do we stop it?"

"How did you stop the last horseman you met?" Castiel asked, still staring at the door.

"War got his mojo from his ring," Dean said, sharing a look with Sam. "And after we cut it off, he just tucked tail and ran."

"And everybody that was affected, it was like they woke up from a dream," Sam said, understanding dawning on his face. "You think Famine's got a class ring too?"

"I know he does," Castiel said harshly, finally turning to them. "And we better get it quickly. Very, very quickly."

* * *

"Are you serious?" Dean asked, glancing over at Castiel. It was nighttime; they were sitting in the Impala together, watching the soul be delivered to Famine and waiting to strike. Sam was handcuffed in the bathroom back at the motel, yearning for demon blood, and Eli was in a separate car, a set-up carefully orchestrated to keep her out of Castiel's sight. The angel had suddenly appeared in the passenger seat, pulling another burger from its wrapper and opening it eagerly. "What's up with the two hungers?"

Castiel sighed and took a bite. "It's an unexpected problem: My vessel wants ground beef, I want… something else. It seemed logical to attempt to sate one hunger…the less, ah, debilitating one."

"Wow. Life just really sucks for you today."

Castiel took another mouthful, chewed, and swallowed. "What I don't understand," he said thickly, eyeing his burger as if to determine the optimum place for his next bite. "Is where is your hunger, Dean?"

Dean pulled his gaze away from the window to stare at the binging angel. "Huh?"

"Well," he said, "slowly but surely, everyone in this town is falling prey to Famine, but so far, you seem unaffected."

"Not just me," Dean pointed out. "Eli's acting pretty rational, too."

Castiel swallowed a huge bite, trying to quell the hunger that surged through his system at the sound of her name. It was getting harder and harder to control it; he feared what would happen if they did not stop Famine soon. "That's more explainable. She was immune to War's hypnosis."

"So?" Dean asked. Castiel shrugged, finishing his burger and staring at the empty wrapper with a look of extreme sadness.

"I'm not sure what it means. It's possible that her half-human, half-angel status makes her…unclassifiable, and therefore immune. Or it could be that the numerous barriers in her mind are blocking any negative outside influences. Either way, she's a special case. You're not."

Dean sighed and leaned against the headrest, staring out the window into the dark night and trying to sound nonchalant. "Hey, when I want to drink, I drink. When I want sex, I go get it." His head was turned so he didn't see Castiel swallow nervously and clench his hands on his knees at the word _sex_. "Same goes for a sandwich or a fight."

"You're saying you're just well-adjusted?" Castiel croaked, trying to focus on the conversation at hand, but now images and desires were running through his mind like a film reel and nothing he could do would block them out.

"God, no," Dean said in a tone of self-derision. "I'm just well-fed."

Suddenly his phone rang. Dean flipped it open. "Yo, Eli."

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of something calming. It wasn't working. Despite his best efforts at distraction his sharper-than-human hearing latched on to the sound of her voice, with the result that he could barely breathe.

_"We got incoming,"_ her voice crackled out of the phone. _"Demons at five o'clock. You're sending Cas in first?"_

"Yeah," Dean said. "If he can concentrate enough to get the job done."

_"He'll be fine. Okay. I'm going in the back entrance in case something goes wrong. I'll see you soon."_

"See ya." Dean clicked his phone shut and turned to Castiel, who had opened his eyes and was staring fixedly at the dashboard, his breathing a bit labored. "You want to go over the plan again?"

Castiel shook his head blearily and looked at Dean, his eyes bloodshot and strangely dilated. "The plan? I take the Knife, I go in, I cut the ring off of Famine, and I meet you back here in the parking lot."

"Well, that sounds foolproof," Dean said, watching the angel worriedly. "Cas, are you sure you're okay to…"

The angel was gone.

Dean sighed, stared out the window for five seconds, then shook his head. "Screw it, this is taking too long," he muttered, getting out of the car and starting to make his way across the dark pavement to the restaurant.

* * *

Eli crept through the back entrance, nearly holding her breath. The hallway was long and pitch-black, so she edged along the walls, not wanting to draw possible attention to herself by lighting a flashlight. From the other end of the restaurant she heard soft voices, but couldn't understand what they were saying. She hoped that all had gone well, that it was already over and that Castiel had been able to focus enough to do his job and break this ridiculous spell that Famine seemed to have over everyone.

She bumped into someone in the dark. "Cas?" she whispered, recognizing his presence and inner light. She tentatively reached out her hand and touched his chest, noting absently that his heart was pumping way too fast. "What's going on? Did you do it?"

He cupped her face in trembling hands, tracing the curves of it with his thumbs, and dipped his head. "No," he growled, kissing her fiercely.

His mouth was hot and demanding on hers, almost animalistic. He held her to him, one arm snaking around her waist, unable to think straight enough to even fly. All he could focus on was how hungry he was for her, how much he wanted her, more than he had wanted anything in his long life, the feel of her skin and her smell and taste and…

Coherent thought drifted away.

Eli was having a hard time thinking as well. She knew that this was wrong, that it was a Famine-induced spell and that they were all in potentially mortal danger, but some of his ravenous hunger was seeping through the bond that connected them, and she could feel control slipping away. His pure passion was addicting, no longer sweet or hesitant, but demanding, his hand buried in her hair, tilting her head up as if to fully consume every inch of her. She felt herself responding, wrapping her arms around his back and pressing herself against him, feeling with irrevocable certainty how much he wanted her.

He pulled her to the ground, pushing her shirt up and moving his mouth to her stomach, his fingers fumbling with the zipper of her cargoes. He started to tug them off, moving his head to trace the line of her underwear with his tongue, several inches below her navel.

Eli tried to pull herself together. "Cas," she gasped out, digging her fingers into his hair. "We can't do this. We have to…" She let out a soft moan as his mouth descended, millimeter by millimeter. "Stop…Famine…Cas…"

She bit her lip to stop from crying out, then summoned up the last of her energy and willpower and pulled herself abruptly up. He reached for her, trying desperately to tug her back under him, but she flared her hand with power and placed two fingers against his forehead. He stared at her with hazy eyes for one moment, then toppled over, unconscious.

"Fuck my life," Eli muttered, rolling him off of her and zipping up her pants. She found the Knife tucked in Castiel's trench coat pocket and shoved it into her belt with more force than was necessary. "Normal girls don't have to choose between getting laid and saving the world."

She took a deep breath, composed herself, and hurried to help Dean. She entered the kitchen, passing dead and bloated bodies, one of a man with his head still in the fryer, and snuck into the dining room.

"And yet, you're all starving because hunger doesn't just come from the body, it also comes from the soul," an old voice was wheezing as Eli quietly pushed open the door.

"It's funny, it doesn't seem to be coming from me," Dean said, with a bit of a swagger in his tone. Eli let out a low breath, thankful that no one had noticed her yet. She gripped the Knife tighter in her hand and inched forward.

"Yes," Famine said thoughtfully. Eli was surprised by how frail he was, ancient and hunched in his chair, his scalp showing through his thin white hair. "I noticed that. Have you wondered why that is? How you could even walk in my presence?"

"Well, I like to think it's because of my strength of character," Dean said, noticing Eli and trying to keep Famine's attention on himself as she drew nearer. Famine let out a hissing laugh.

"I disagree," he said, moving his chair forward to place one shivering old hand on Dean's stomach. He jerked with disgust and tried to pull away, but the two demons flanking him only gripped him tighter. Everyone's attention was on Dean; no one saw the blonde skulking in the shadows, knife in her hand. "I see," Famine mused with a bit of triumph, taking his claw from Dean's belly. "That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean." He leered up at Dean, who was suddenly pale and looked like he was about to be sick. "Can't fill it, can you?" Famine mocked. "Not with food or drink. Not even with sex."

"Oh, you're so full of crap," Dean snapped. Famine merely grinned.

"I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are, how defeated. You can't win, and you know it. But you keep fighting, keep going through the motions. You're not hungry, Dean, because inside, you're dead." He paused, smiling beatifically. "Not at all like you, Miss Elijah."

Eli was nearly behind him. She froze. All of the demons flashed their attention to her; they had been so deep in Famine's thrall that they hadn't even noticed she was there. Now they grabbed her arms, wrenching the Knife out of her grasp and flinging her guns to the floor.

"I've been waiting to meet you," Famine wheezed, turning his wheelchair to face her. "The Nephilim who is immune to my powers. I have never been able to speak with someone so consumed with a passion for life that did not immediately gorge themselves in my presence. It's refreshing."

"I take it that's a compliment?" she asked dryly, trying to stay as calm as possible. Famine laughed.

"Take it as you will. Though I don't know if being self-destructively hungry for life is much better than being totally numb inside."

"I am not self-destructive," she hissed. He smiled at her, a strange combination of pity and amusement in his filmy eyes.

"Left your life and family to pursue a life of masochism and violence, endangering the world in the process? Gave into your desire for an angel despite his being in a vessel and the potentially cataclysmic consequences? Chasing after Lucifer even knowing that he has the collar? All selfish, self-destructive things, my dear. You want so badly to feel alive that you run headlong into sin and danger. You don't even need me. Your desires are ruining you just fine on your own."

"Go to hell," she snarled.

"I think you will go first," Famine said mildly. "I have you now, and soon, Lucifer will have you forever."

"I don't think so," Sam's voice rang through the near-silent restaurant. Eli turned to look at him with wide eyes. He was clearly hopped-up on demon blood, his movements jittery, his muscles flexed. She could feel the malevolent aura vibrating off of him, tinting her vision in red. He was different when he was under its influence, like he wasn't even human. She wouldn't have been surprised if his eyes turned black.

With a casual wave of his hand, Sam ripped Famine apart.

* * *

Sam screamed from inside the panic room, banging helplessly at the door, begging to be let out. Eli could barely stand the sound; she shut her eyes tightly, feeling tears fringe her lashes at the pain and desperation in his voice.

"That's not him in there," Castiel was saying to Dean, trying to be comforting. "Not really."

"I know," Dean said in a choked voice, staring at the wall with haunted eyes. He took a long drink from the whiskey bottle in his hand.

"Dean, Sam just has to get it out of his system," Castiel continued gently. Eli was amazed at how well his ability to be empathetic was progressing. He sounded almost human, like a friend. "Then he'll be…"

"I just need to get some air," Dean said abruptly, turning and hurrying up the stairs, his head bowed and shoulders knotted.

Eli cleared her throat nervously. This was the first time they had been alone together since she had knocked him out in the back of Famine's restaurant. Castiel had barely looked at her since then, so great was his embarrassment. Now he finally did, stepping toward her and holding out his hand.

"We do not have to stay here and listen to this," he said quietly. She nodded, rubbing her eyes with the back of her wrist, and put her hand in his.

Instantly they were in a park. The wind was cool through the trees, but pleasant, the sky covered by a thin layer of clouds. The ground was squishy from recent rain, and not too far away children in blue and white uniforms were playing a game of soccer, tearing through the grass in cleats, whooping and cheering.

Eli leaned against a tree and stared at the sky through the branches. "Thanks," she said after a moment. "This is much better."

"I agree," Castiel said, and proceeded to merely watch her for a long time as she breathed in the clean air and tried to calm the despair that was welling up inside of her. "I'm sorry," he finally murmured in an awkward tone. She glanced at him, smiling a little.

"Don't be," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "Everyone was going crazy. You couldn't control yourself."

"But I should have been able to," he insisted. "I'm an angel. I'm supposed to be stronger than this."

"Most angels are unemotional and frigid," Eli said, stepping closer to Castiel and wrapping her arms around his waist, under his trench coat, tilting her head so that she could look up at his face. "I don't see having human emotions as a weakness. Quite the opposite, really."

"But what I did…I am sorry if I…" he began, but she silenced him with a soft kiss.

"I didn't mind," she whispered. "You can jump me any time you want, Famine or no."

He kissed her back, smiling a little against her mouth. "Is that a fact?" he murmured, holding her gently against him, one hand playing with her unbound hair. She nodded, feeling all of the fear and pain inside of her melt away at his touch.

A moment later, the spot where they were standing was empty. No one noticed them leave.

 


	11. Coda: Dark Side Of The Moon

 

 

Eli found the door busted open on its hinges.

Fear rattled through her as she pushed roughly past the shattered frame and into the room. Her heart stopped in her throat, a sick feeling swelling in her stomach at the sight of the two bloody bodies on the bed. She couldn't breathe.

"No," she whispered, darting forward. She grasped Sam first, pulling his limp body toward her, checking for a pulse. He was already cold. "Oh no, no, no, no…" she whimpered, turning to Dean, staining her hands red with his blood as she searched hopelessly for a heartbeat. Suddenly, like a vice had been released from around her lungs, she could breathe again, and she began to choke on her tears, her bloody hands coming up to her face as she hunched by the bedside and cried.

A hand found her shoulder. "Elijah," came his soft voice. "It will be all right."

She turned and buried herself in his chest, not caring that she was staining his white shirt with sticky red. "They're… they're…" she gasped out, close to hyperventilating.

"Dead, I know," Castiel said evenly. "But Eli, they are vessels. They can not die. They will return."

Her breath hitched in her throat. "Are you sure?" she asked, raising teary eyes to his. He nodded, brushing her tears away with the pad of his thumb.

"I am. They are in heaven now, but eventually Zachariah will find them and return them to their bodies. Until then, we will watch over them, keep them safe."

Eli was still trying to recover from the shock of seeing her two best friends dead. "Their bodies or their souls?" she asked. He sighed.

"Both."

* * *

The day was long. Eli kept vigil over their bodies like they were sleeping children, watching with mild interest as Castiel crouched by the disconnected television in the room and somehow used it to communicate with the brothers. It was a bizarre feeling, to see their faces look out from the screen, confused and belligerent and snarky and all of the things that made them the people she cared so much about, while she was sitting by their cold bodies and wiping the blood from their necks.

Finally Castiel joined her, and they sat together on the floor, backs against the foot of Dean's bed, the corpses behind them like limp dolls. "I've done all I can," he said quietly. "The rest is up to them now."

"They'll do it, Cas," she said, wrapping his hand in hers. "They always find a way. They'll get to Joshua."

"I know," he said, without conviction. Eli watched him stare into space, a distracted look on his face. The world was ending, nothing was going right, and all of them were one shred away from giving up completely. She knew, deep in her bones, how badly they all needed this, needed to hear that God was on their side, rooting for them, helping them.

"What are we going to do?" she finally asked in a quiet voice. He turned like he had forgotten that she was there, and his hand briefly tightened around hers. "If we can't find God. If it turns out we're alone in this."

"We'll find God," Castiel said with more confidence than she had heard from him in a long time.

Eli sighed. "Yeah, I know, but what if we don't?"

The angel was stubborn. "We will. Have faith."

"Yeah, but _what if we don't_?" she snapped, irritated. He looked at her, his eyes huge and hollow and, she noticed for the first time, a little scared. Like he was hanging on by a thread, by faith alone.

"I don't know," he admitted, dropping his gaze to their joined hands. "We are…this is…" He took a deep breath. "This is our last hope. If this fails, I don't know what…" He trailed off again, his voice slightly choked.

Eli didn't press the matter, just leaned her head against his shoulder and left him to his thoughts.

* * *

Eli was just nodding off, her eyes closing against her will, head still cushioned by Castiel's shoulder, when she heard two huge gasps of breath from behind her. She shot up to see the brothers sitting up frantically, bodies newly warm and healed.

"Hey, hey guys, it's okay, you're here," Eli said, crouching between the beds and steadying both of their shoulders. They looked at her wildly, shaking and shuddering.

"Eli?" Sam asked first, grasping her arm as if to anchor himself on something solid. Dean was checking his chest anxiously, noting that there was a bullet hole in his shirt and dried blood but no marks on his skin.

"We're alive?" he croaked. "Really? We just went to heaven and back?"

"It would appear so," Castiel said, and both brothers jerked at the sound of his voice. He was standing at the foot of Dean's bed, watching them with piercing eyes. "What happened?"

"Do you think we could have a couple moments to recuperate from _being dead_?" Dean snapped, holding his head in his hands and swinging his legs off of the bloody comforter.

"No," Castiel said flatly. "This is too important. Did you meet with Joshua? What did he say?"

"Cas," Sam said, attempting to stand. Eli helped him to his feet, steadying him as he swayed. "I don't really think we should…"

"What. Did. He. Say," Castiel ground out, brow furrowed into a glare that would frighten small children.

Dean stood as well, stumbling to the desk and pulling out a bottle of whisky, drinking straight from it and wincing as the harsh liquid burned down his throat. "He doesn't care," he said bluntly, taking another swig. "Joshua said God knows all about our attempts to find him, the fact that the world is ending, and he…just doesn't care."

There was a long moment of silence. Eli released Sam's arm, staring at Castiel with worry. "I don't believe that," the angel finally said in a harsh voice. Dean shook his head pityingly.

"I'm sorry Cas, but that's what he said."

Castiel leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. "Perhaps…perhaps Joshua was lying," he rasped. Eli wrapped her arms around herself, watching him but unsure whether to intrude on his personal grief.

"I don't think so," Sam said gently. Castiel's shoulders began to shake.

"You son of a bitch," Castiel muttered, staring heavenward, his voice hoarse with suppressed tears. "I believed in…" He stopped abruptly and took a deep breath, turning back to the three hunters. "Here," he said brokenly, pulling the amulet off of his neck and shoving it into Dean's hand. "I won't be needing this anymore."

"Cas," Eli started, stepping toward him. He looked at her and shook his head, holding out a hand to keep her away, and the pain in his eyes was like nothing she had ever seen before. He took a step back, feet silent against the carpet.

There was the sound of wings rustling, and he was gone.

Eli stared at the empty spot where he had stood, her heart aching. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry. "Damnit," she whispered.

The room was silent. Finally Eli took a long, shaking breath to compose herself, then turned and wrapped the elder Winchester in a hug tight enough to rival Cupid.

"Woah, Eli, calm down!" Dean said, looking with vague panic at Sam as she sobbed into his chest. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she wept, tightening her grip on him so that he could barely breathe. "I'm just so glad you jackasses are alive."

"Yeah, nice to see you too, Barbie," Dean said, patting her awkwardly on the back. "Now, uh, could you loosen up a bit? I just came back from the dead, I'd appreciate being able to breathe."

She released him, rubbing her nose with her sleeve, and immediately glomped on Sam. "You too, you giant freak," she muttered into his shirt. "Don't die on me again. I mean it."

Sam gave a coughing laugh, feeling an odd fondness for the foulmouthed blonde currently squeezing the life out of him and snotting all over his bloody shirt. He caught Dean's eye, with the realization that they were both thinking the same thing: that it had been a very long time since anyone but Bobby had really cared about their well-being. "We'll try not to," he said wryly, smiling a little. "Really, we will."

"Good," Eli said, stepping away and looking into their faces, thanking heaven that they were alive again and regretting very, very deeply that she was going to have to leave them.

But it couldn't be helped, Eli thought, watching them emerge from the bathroom one at a time in clean clothes and start to pack up their bags. God didn't care. Everything was in shambles. Castiel was gone. Hope was almost lost, and she cared about them, all of them, too much to sit back and do nothing and watch the world burn.

Eli knew what she had to do.

The next morning, her room was empty. She didn't even leave a note.

 


	12. Archangel Anger Management

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _Three weeks later..._   
> 

A spotlight shone down on her from somewhere above, a stark, blinding pool of yellow. From behind her, band music began to play, triumphant and disorienting.

"Well helllooooooo Elijah!"

She'd recognize that jackass announcer voice anywhere. Eli spun around, trying to see into the darkness around her own personal limelight, but it was too strong. The music crescendoed, all horns and drums, hurting her ears.

"Shut that damn thing off!" she yelled, not really expecting a response.

Immediately the music stopped and the light clicked out, leaving her standing alone in a damp, dark warehouse. The sudden silence was deafening; spots swam in front of her eyes, little dots of illusional, leftover light.

"You're right. I'm done with games." The usually jovial voice was cold. Gabriel emerged from the shadows, arms crossed, looking oddly intimidating. "You've been following me for weeks, tracking my movements like a bloodhound." He smirked. "I'll give you credit, you're a tough bitch to shake. So I cave. What do you want?"

She opened her mouth, but before she could respond he cut her off. "And please, don't ask me to kill you. It's not going to happen. I hope you didn't just waste weeks of your life on an idiot's quest."

"Time is running out," she said, her voice coming out a lot stronger than she felt.

"Not my problem," he sing-songed. "We've been through this, Eli. Keep boring me and I might just be tempted to lock you up in TV land again and never let you out." He moved as if to disappear back into the shadows.

"I met my father," she burst out before he could disappear. He stopped so abruptly it was like a string being plucked, then turned around and walked with swift steps, until his nose was inches from her face.

"And?" he asked. "What was dear old dad like?"

"Kind of a douchebag, to be honest," Eli said. Gabriel gave her a murderous look. "Oh, I know, I know, don't insult your family. But they're my family, too. I guess that makes you, what … my Uncle?"

"Technically, that makes Castiel your Uncle too," he pointed out sneeringly. She blanched.

"Wow. Gross."

"So I'm guessing you didn't track me down just to tell me that you finally got the big family reunion?" he asked, looking irritated. "Come on, girl. Spit it out."

"Fine." She paused and took a deep breath, just to piss him off. "He was spouting all of this mumbo-jumbo about destiny and fate and how it is so unchangeable. But he _also_ said that, in relation to the apocalypse, the future is blurred. Unclear. That they are subsisting on hope, for the first time in a long time. Which means…" Eli trailed off, looking at him sharply, her hair falling into her eyes. "That we have a chance. To change this. To stop Lucifer."

"Are you asking for my help, _again_?" He threw up his hands, his voice echoing and bouncing off the high metal ceiling. "Haven't we been through this _a million times_? How long will it take to get it through your thick skull?"

"Am I making you angry?" she asked, shifting her weight and leaning forward, suddenly aggressive, like a lion going in for the kill. "You mother-fucking piece of shit? Am I wasting your precious time, asshole? Taking away from all the hours you spend masturbating with self-created women and eating chocolate?"

"Yes, damnit!" he snapped, turning on her and advancing with dangerous intent. His power, usually so carefully wrapped up, flared, creating a dancing, vibrating aura around his body. "You've been a thorn in my side since the moment you woke up your little wonder-girl powers. Every time you open your mouth I could just _throttle_ you, you whining, misguided, selfish…" Gabriel stopped in his tracks, his face going just a bit paler, and Eli felt a slam of nervous disappointment deep in her gut.

Slowly, he began to clap, the sound mocking. "Oh. Oh, you're _good_. Trying to enrage me so that I'd kill you. Nice try. I should have known sooner. Even you're not that much a bitch. But sorry, sunshine. You're staying locked up tight. It's…"

"Destiny?" she asked harshly.

"I was going to say _not gonna happen_ but yeah, destiny works too," he quipped.

"Just do it!" she yelled, stepping forward and flaring her hands with power. He was surprised enough that when she pushed him in the chest he actually stumbled back. "We're running out of time! Don't you understand? The world is going to burn! So help us! Kill me, damnit!"

His face hardened. "No."

Eli went deathly still. "Fine," she said loftily, turning away and starting to walk out of the warehouse. "Suit yourself. I guess I only have one option left, then."

Gabriel appeared in front of her, clearly nervous. "Which is?"

She crossed her arms and tried very hard to sound casual. Dean always made false bravado seem so easy, but it wasn't. "I'm going to have to kill a prophet. I mean, that'll definitely piss off an Archangel. And fancy that: I just so happen to know a prophet. Guess it's my lucky day."

He took a menacing step toward her. "You will do no such thing," he growled in an infinitely more frightening voice than she had ever heard before. His power was again shimmering around him, straining at its ropes.

Eli brushed past his glowing figure with even strides, keeping her eyes on the door. "Thanks for nothing, Gabe," she said, her boots coming down heavy on the cement floor.

He grabbed her arm. "Wait."

She turned swiftly, perhaps too eagerly. "Yeah?"

"I can't…you shouldn't be so anxious to die," he said in a softer voice. She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"It's only for like, a second, right?" she said. "I'll come back…me, just…rebuilt. Better, stronger, faster, all that stuff." She studied him for a long moment. "Right?"

"You'll come back," he said roughly, dropping her arm. "But…damnit, girl, didn't you ever stop to think about the fucked-up-ness of this whole situation?"

She stared at him blankly. "Come again?"

"You and the Winchesters, I swear to God: Functioning morons." He sighed. "Fine. Fine. I'll spell it out for you, short-bus. Why do you think the collar was even created? I mean, why would you want to create a binding object for a ridiculously powerful creature that could fall into the wrong hands?" A pause. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking agitated. "If you go boom without that collar on hand, then it's lights out for you."

"Meaning?" she challenged. He looked her in the eye.

"Meaning you'll have about five minutes of godlike power before your very consciousness implodes, and, to put it lightly, you disappear from this existence in an extremely unpleasant and painful way."

"I'll die?" she asked quietly. Her heart was fluttering in her chest like a caged bird, too fast, making her hands shake.

"Oh, it's worse than death. Complete non-existence. Your soul will be pulverized."

"And with the collar…?"

"It was created because it is the only way to harness the power. Do you get it now? You can never control your own destiny. It will either be controlled for you, with disastrous results for all of us, or you totally cease to exist. No other option. So I can't kill you. It wouldn't do any good for any of us."

"I would have five minutes," Eli said, stunned by the determination in her voice. "I could use that time to kill Lucifer."

"Stop trying to be a martyr. It's unattractive," he snapped. "And foolish."

"But not impossible," she pointed out.

Gabriel looked tired, his eyes shadowed and old, his shoulders bent. Outside, the sun was setting, throwing golden and purple patterns across the walls. Eli realized, with sudden clarity, that this place was almost an exact mirror of the warehouse seven years ago, where all of this began. Now, just like then, she was facing her own death. Except this time, she was standing with an angel, not a demon.

"Look, I can't do what you're asking of me," he was saying with uncommon solemnity. "But if you promise – promise! – me that you won't do anything stupid, like assassinating a prophet, then I might be able to help you out. A little."

Eli tucked her hair behind her ears, looking at him with a certain amount of suspicion. "What?" she asked, feeling very thrown by this sudden change in attitude.

"I'm not going to smash them all, but I can unlock a few—just a few, you sneaky little minx—of the barriers in your mind. It'll raise your power to an angelic level. It'll be enough to help your friends and _get you out of my hair._ Now. Will you _please_ stop being such a pain in the ass and just take what is offered, for once in your life?"

Eli stared at him. "I don't trust you," she finally said.

Gabriel nodded. "Good. You shouldn't. Lesson number one: don't trust angels. But I'm telling the truth, and you know it."

She stayed silent, just studying him. He began to tap his foot anxiously.

"Hello? Pain in my ass? I'm waiting. Piss me off enough and I can always throw you back in TV land…"

"Fine!" she bit out. He raised an eyebrow.

"Fine?"

"Do it."

"You sure? What's done can not be undone, you know…" He seemed suddenly nervous, like he hadn't thought this far ahead and had run out of script. She realized, with a strange pang of empathy, that this was the first proactive thing he had done in, well, eons. It must be terrifying for him, to join again the fray, to take a step, however tentatively, towards making a stand. She was reminded forcibly of Cas, who struggled so hard with his identity as a soldier and his decision to break the rules and disobey. She was, to put it simply, rather proud of the irritating trickster-angel.

"I know. But if it can help us save the world and defeat the devil, then…yes. Do it."

He stepped closer to her, so close they were almost touching. "First, promise me. No going after a prophet. No trying to power-up. No doing something stupid in an attempt to get the collar from Lucifer. Stay out of the final battle. Just stop. All of it. Just…stop."

She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to quell the trembling in her body and the dryness that was stifling her mouth. "I promise."

He looked her in the eye, as if ascertaining truthfulness, then nodded. "Okay. I might be fucking up this whole thing, but …okay. So." He lifted his hand and placed it palm-down on her forehead, letting a little of his light leak into her skin. "This might hurt."

He twisted his hand, just like Azazel had done seven years before. But the pain was different this time around: it was much, much worse.

Eli felt like her skin was literally filleted off of her bones, like strips of it were peeled away by white fire, deeper and deeper, past muscles and nerves until she was nothing but a skeleton. It was so fierce she couldn't even scream, just let out a strangled choking sound. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. She just burned and burned and burned and burned and…

"You think that was bad, just imagine what it would be like if they broke _all_ the barriers."

Eli realized belatedly that it was over, and that Gabriel was leaning over her huddled figure, speaking in tones that walked a fine, impossible line between derision and sympathy. "How ya feeling, kid?"

Slowly she stood up, studying her hands like she had never seen them before. The air seemed sweeter, more oxygenated and crisp, smells almost overwhelmingly sharp, sounds a little too clear. "Lighter," she croaked, carefully stretching each of her limbs like they were new. "More…real."

"Like you had plastic wrap around your head for the past twenty-six years," Gabriel agreed with a knowing nod. She nodded, now touching her face with experimental fingers, prodding at the skin.

"Yeah…something like that."

"Well, my job is done," he said brightly, clapping his hands together and rubbing them like he couldn't wait to be out of there. "Don't forget your promise: no bothering me, hotshot."

"Wait!" she cried out, stepping toward him on wobbly feet. He seemed brighter than before, as if she could see his true face lingering beneath the vessel. "You can't just leave me like this. I have no idea of how to do…anything. I need help."

Gabriel faced her with a mildly disapproving frown. "You got your help, sweetcheeks. You wanted more power, I gave it. Game over, job done. Figure out the rest for yourself."

Then he was gone.

"Great," Eli muttered to the empty warehouse. Her voice was low but it still bounced off the walls, echoing back at her mockingly. "Just great. Now what?"

Her phone rang.

Eli dug around in her many cargo pockets, finally finding it and flipping it open, noting absently that she had fifteen missed calls. Her phone had been off for the past few weeks; she knew that Sam and Dean would be calling her, asking where she was, what she was doing. She knew that they would have disapproved her plan to seek out Gabriel and release her power. So she had just ignored them. Occasionally she checked her messages, knowing that if Castiel had reappeared they would let her know, but clearly he hadn't. He never called her, either, or found her through their connection; it was like he had just disappeared into the vapor. God being missing, knowing of their quest and not caring enough to do anything about it—it was a hard blow for all of them. It was what had spurred Eli to try and solve things on her own.

She shook herself out of her thoughts and put the phone to her ear. "Hello?" A pause. "It's personal. It doesn't matter. What's going on? … Is Cas there…Are you serious? Okay. Just tell me where you are… Okay. I'm there now." She hung up.

The warehouse stood empty as the sun sank from the sky.

 


	13. 99 Problems (And No Solutions)

 

 

Dean entered the motel room, his hands and shirt covered in blood, looking distraught.

"We went out looking for—" Sam started, then stopped as he saw the blood. "You all right?"

Dean raised his hands, staring at them as if he hadn't realized they were coated in semi-dry, still-sticky blood. "Yeah," he said shakily, going over to the sink and starting to scrub with vigorous motions. "It's not my blood. Paul's dead. Jane shot him."

Sam looked appropriately shocked and horrified. Castiel just shrugged limply and sagged into the sofa.

"It's starting," he informed them in a thick voice. Dean shot him a look, drying his hands and coming to stand by the inebriated angel.

"What's starting?" he demanded. "Where the hell have you been?"

Castiel glared at him with bloodshot eyes. "On a bender," he snapped hotly.

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Did he—did you say 'on a bender?'"

"Yeah," Sam said ruefully, running a hand through his lank hair. "He's still pretty smashed."

Castiel waved his hand dismissively; even that movement was drunken, too loose and wild, like his hand was going to detach from his wrist and go flying across the room. "It is not of import. We need to talk about what's happening here." He paused, squinting his eyes as if thinking too hard hurt, and scanned the room. "What…where's Elijah? I thought she would be with you." He glowered at Dean, and said, slurring his words a little: "I don't trust you, by the way. Too smooth. I know how you are with women. I know what goes on in that head of yours."

"What?" Dean asked, offended. Castiel merely continued to give him a vaguely menacing look.

"She's not here," Sam said quickly, and Castiel turned his irritated gaze to the younger brother.

"What do you mean, she's not here?" he asked suspiciously. "Where is she?"

"Damned if I know," Dean said, sinking down on the couch next to Castiel. "Girl's been gone for weeks."

"She left right after you disappeared," Sam continued. "Vanished in the middle of the night. We thought she might be searching for you."

"Well she didn't find me," Castiel muttered, clearly agitated. He looked at Sam. "Call her."

"Dude, we've tried, like, a million times," Dean said, but reached for his phone anyway. Castiel shot him a look that would freeze hell and leaned into his face.

"Not you," he grated. "Pretty boy."

"You know, I don't think I like drunk Cas," Dean said, scooting away from the alcohol breath and furrowed brow. "Kind of makes you…jealous and mean. Also kind of a douche."

The angel glowered.

"Okay, I'm calling," Sam said loudly to dispel the tension. He held up the phone and made a show of pressing 'Send.' It rang about ten times; finally, when Sam was about to hang up in resignation, it clicked on the other end.

"Eli?" he asked, surprised. "Where have you been?...We could use your help…Yeah, and he's, uh, pretty wasted…Yeah." He gave her their address. "How long will it take you to…" He paused, then closed the phone, turning back to the two men on the couch. "She hung up on me."

"Where is she?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged.

"Dunno. She wouldn't say."

Then someone hauled Castiel bodily off of the couch and shook him like a doll, fingers gripping the lapels of his wrinkled trench coat.

"You're drunk? The end of the world is coming, you disappear on me for weeks – _weeks_ —you don't even call to tell me that you're alive, and then you show up smashed? What the hell, Cas?"

"Please stop shaking me," he said weakly. "The room is spinning as it is." She let go, stepping back and crossing her arms, her face thunderous.

The room was deathly silent. Finally, Sam said in a tentative voice: "Eli? How…how the hell…"

"Where did you come from?" Dean exclaimed, standing up. "Did you…did you just _teleport_ into the room?"

Eli looked mildly uncomfortable as she turned to the two brothers, hooking her thumbs into the belt loops of her cargo pants and shifting on her feet. "Hey guys. Sorry I disappeared on you, there was…something I had to do. Won't happen again. Maybe. Probably."

"Did you. Just teleport. Into. The. Room." Dean punctuated each of his words with a jerk of his finger, stepping closer to the anxious blonde.

"I, uhh…yeah. Yes I did."

"How?" Sam asked, eyeing her warily.

"That's what I'd like to know," Dean said. "Because the last time you could teleport it was, uh…" He looked at Castiel pointedly. The drunk angel shrugged, tie askew, trench coat hanging limply off of one shoulder.

"Don't look at me. I'm cut off from heaven, remember? Nothing left to give." He paused, a look of horror suddenly crossing his face. He turned on Eli, his bloodshot eyes wider than she had ever seen them. "You…you haven't…you didn't…."

"God, Cas, have a little faith," Eli snapped. "Here, though I doubt you deserve it." She held her hand out and lightly touched it to his forehead; Castiel blinked rapidly as a cool glow spread through his body, dissipating the alcohol in his system. When it was over he stepped back, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.

"You wouldn't think to remove the hangover as well, would you?" he asked groggily. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Nope. Deal with it. Try aspirin. Now, you pervs, no, it didn't happen the same way. I just…powered up. Nothing big."

"Nothing big?" Sam echoed incredulously. "Eli, how can you be so dismissive of this? This is huge!"

"I went to Gabriel, okay?" she burst out. The room went silent. Castiel dropped his hands from his face to stare at her. "That's where I've been these past weeks. I went to him to ask…to try and get him to kill me."

"WHAT?" the three men exclaimed at the same time. Castiel took a half-step toward her, his face very pale. Eli held up a hand to stop the room from turning into a flurry of questions and consternation.

"He wouldn't. Obviously. But we reached a compromise. He…released some more power, I promised not to go looking to die."

"Of all the stupid…" Dean started, looking like he was about to throttle her. She stared him down coldly, her new power rushing through her veins. She could see, as if for the first time, how tired everyone looked, how utterly exhausted and paper-thin their skin was, premature lines around too-old eyes. They, all of them, herself included, looked beaten.

"God is gone," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "He doesn't give a shit. We have no plan. What else was I supposed to do?"

"Tell us, for starters!" Dean exclaimed. She shook her head.

"You would have just tried to stop me."

"Of course we would have," Castiel rasped, sounding worried and a little hurt. "It's a terrible idea."

"Better plan than getting smashed," she said coldly, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

"We should…finish the case," he murmured, and Eli felt a sudden rush of guilt. She placed a hand on his arm.

"Cas, I'm…" she started, but he shrugged her away and sat back down on the couch.

"We should finish the case," he repeated in a low voice, staring at the book in front of him without blinking. "Sam, explain to them what we have discovered."

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, okay. Well, for starters…Leah is not a real prophet."

"Well, what is she, exactly?" Dean asked, peering at the upside-down book.

"The Whore," Castiel said harshly, rubbing his temples. Dean snorted.

"Wow. Cas, tell us what you really think."

"She rises when Lucifer walks the earth," Castiel said, spinning the book so that Dean and Eli could read it. "' _And she shall come, bearing false prophecy.'_ This creature has the power to take a human's form, read minds. Book of Revelations calls her 'the Whore of Babylon.'"

"Well, that's catchy," Dean said with false brightness. Eli sank down onto a squishy chair, listening to them speak and chewing on her ragged thumbnail like she always did when she was upset.

She felt like shit. She had been so wrapped up in her own quest that she hadn't stopped to think about how it would affect the people she cared about. Castiel had just lost faith in his God, faith in everything, and she was running off trying to get herself killed, to change her very essence and spirit into something foreign without even letting him know. Had she succeeded, he would have lost her too. And, even more painful, she would have lost him.

 _Famine was right_ , she thought with sudden clarity. _I am selfish. I should have been looking for Cas instead of Gabriel. I would have been able to find him if I tried, with this connection that we share. I should have been there for him in his darkest moments. Instead, I was being selfish, again, trying to run away and fix everybody's problems on my own._

"Her goal is to condemn as many souls to hell as possible," Castiel was saying in a tired voice. "And it's just beginning. She's well on her way to dragging this whole town into the pit."

"All right," Dean said, clapping his hands together and trying to sound optimistic. "So how do we go Pimp of Babylon all over this bitch?" He glanced up. "Cas?"

Eli looked too. The angel was gone. She frowned, then concentrated, squeezing her eyes shut, still unsure of how to use this new power. A moment passed, and she was gone too.

* * *

Eli found him breaking off a branch of a cypress tree. They were standing on a high hill overlooking a vast countryside, the ground scattered with the last remains of ancient bricks and mounds of debris. The air smelled like foreign flowers and clean breeze. Above them, the sun was cresting the sky, gilding the whole world in pink and blue.

"Where are we?" she asked, surveying the view, and Castiel spun around, branch in hand.

"Babylon," he said shortly, stepping away from the tree. "Or, where it used to be. I didn't ask you to follow me."

She winced at the coldness of his tone. "I know. Look, Cas…"

"We don't have time for this," he said stiffly, and Eli could sense that he was about to disappear. She lunged at him, nearly tackling him to the ground; he staying standing just barely, holding her up, eyebrows raised and mouth slack with surprise.

"I'm sorry," she gasped out. "I was selfish and stupid and…It's just that you left, and I felt so helpless, and I didn't know what else to do…"

He looked pained, gently easing her off of him; she continued to cling to the lapels of his trench coat, determined that he would not disappear on her. "I know," he said softly, his dark hair sticking out from his head like splayed fingers. "It is not your fault. I should have stayed with you. Going out and drinking a liquor store was not, in retrospect, the best solution for dealing with grief. But Eli, please understand me." He lifted her chin to look her in the eye. "I've lost everything: My home, my brothers, my purpose, my Father. I can't lose you too." His face was raw and open and sad, his voice scratchy, like it was difficult to speak. "I couldn't bear that."

"You won't," she swore. "I promised Gabriel and I promise you too—I'm not going anywhere. I won't go near any more Archangels. I will fight with what I have, and we'll do this, we'll all take down the devil—together."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "I love you, Eli," he breathed. "So much that it frightens me. More than I've ever loved anything. But I don't believe you."

Eli blinked, stunned. He had never said that to her before. "What did you just say?" she asked, jerking away a little, her heart beating fast in her ears, and realized that she was just holding air.

He was already gone.

* * *

Eli reappeared in the motel room a few moments later, not sure whether she should be ecstatic ( _he said he loved me!)_ or furious ( _and then disappeared—again)_.

Castiel was in the middle of explaining to Sam and Dean how to kill the Whore. "She can only be killed by a true Servant of Heaven."

"Servant, like…" Dean started. Castiel paced the kitchen, finally leaning heavily against the counter-top and massaging his temples. Eli realized belatedly that she had never removed his hangover.

"Not you. Or me," he rasped. "Sam and Eli, of course, are abominations. We'll have to find someone else. "

* * *

That night, after explaining to a distraught Pastor Gideon how not only were angels among us and wearing trench coats, but that he would have to kill his own daughter with a wooden stake, Castiel sat outside, holding his head and generally feeling like shit. He couldn't believe that he said he loved her. It was true, of course—the knowledge of it had been running through him since before he had fallen—but he had never imagined he would blurt it out like that, right at his darkest moment, right when he trusted her least.

"Heads up," Dean said, tossing a bottle of aspirin to the beleaguered angel. Castiel just barely caught it and squinted at the small type.

"How much should I take?" he asked, wincing as another flash of pain rolled through his head. He was unused to discomfort, especially the internal, non-wounded kind. He supposed that now he could ask Eli to heal him, but his pride insisted he stay outside.

"You?" Dean asked, sitting down on the steps next to Castiel and resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced together pensively. "You should probably just down the whole bottle."

"Thanks," Castiel said. He hesitated, then tried to open it, struggling with the child-proof top.

"Don't mention it," Dean said, taking the bottle and opening it with a flick of the wrist. He handed it back and Castiel tipped about twenty pills into his mouth. "I've been there. I'm a big expert on deadbeat dads. So…yeah, I get it. I know how you feel."

Castiel swallowed, nearly choking on all of the tiny tablets. "How do you manage it?" he asked when he could breathe again, and even he was surprised at how exhausted he sounded.

"On a good day," Dean said, staring out into the night, his mouth twisted into something that would resemble a smirk if it wasn't so sad, "you get to kill a Whore."

There was silence for a long moment. Then Castiel asked: "What do you think she is going to do?"

Dean sighed and furrowed his brow, wishing he had a beer. "The Whore or Eli?"

"Eli."

"She's gonna cut and run eventually," Dean said bluntly. "Do something stupid. I can see it in her eyes. She's not done playing the hero." He glanced at Castiel out of the corner of his eye; the angel was staring at the aspirin bottle contemplatively, his face a mask of blue shadows. "She means well," Dean said, his voice a little gentler, and Castiel looked up. "All I'm saying is…don't be surprised if you wake up one morning and she's gone."

Silence. Dean waited a beat before patting Castiel awkwardly on the shoulder and standing. The hunter went back into the motel without another word, leaving the angel alone with his hangover, his aspirin, and his thoughts.

 


	14. Two Minutes Past the Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Extra long chapter time - two episodes for the price of one!_

 

 

Adam Milligan, Dean and Sam's long lost brother, was back from the dead.

Eli listened to the whole thing from the back of the room, feeling sick to her stomach. The angels had clearly lied to the kid, twisting him against his family, bloating his sense of self-importance. She would almost feel bad for him if he wasn't being such a douche. And now, there was the possibility that Zachariah and Michael really had moved on from Dean. She knew it was possible. There were several vessels in the world able to contain Michael for brief periods of time—her father included. Adam being Sam and Dean's brother was a good enough blood bond. It just might work.

Everything was spiraling out of control. Dean had escaped the panic room by sending Castiel away in a blaze of white fire. Sam had rushed out to look for him, leaving Eli and Bobby to watch Adam.

The youngest Winchester was in the kitchen, picking at a sandwich. Eli grabbed a beer from the fridge and sank down across the small table from him, sipping idly and staring into space. Adam glanced up at her.

"So I guess you're my jailer, now," he said bluntly. She nodded, placing her beer on the table.

"That's right."

"You're Elijah, right?" he asked. "The Nephilim. The angels told me about you."

Eli leaned forward a little, twirling her bottle. "And what did they say about me?" she asked, mildly interested. "Couldn't have been nice."

"They were kind of…I dunno, vague," he said, shrugging. "They told me Michael was your dad. They also said you were dangerous." He eyed the squashed buns on top of her head with a small smirk. "Don't look so dangerous to me."

"It's an advantage to be underestimated," she said, smiling a little.

"So you're uh, a hunter? Like these guys?" Adam leaned back in his chair, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She was oddly pretty, he realized, all soft curves under her baggy clothing and combat boots. He liked her freckles, and her green eyes; they made her look younger than she was, almost his age. He realized with a pang how long it had been since he had seen a pretty girl who wasn't one of heaven's hallucinations.

She nodded, taking another sip of beer. "Yep."

"Why're you with them?" he asked. "I mean, the Archangel Michael is your _father_. Shouldn't you, you know, be on his side?"

"I'm with them because… sometimes, you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Did you just quote Albus Dumbledore at me?"

She smiled, tilting her beer bottle at him like she was making an invisible toast. "I did indeed." She took another drink. "But in all seriousness, this really is a choice, between free will and fate. We have to believe that there is a way out of this hole that heaven and hell have dug, a way to protect this world without sacrificing everything and everyone in it."

"But the angels told me that when heaven wins, it will be paradise," Adam said, frowning. "Why wouldn't you want that?"

"Paradise? Like it is in heaven?" She let out a snort. "Besides that fact that half the human population wouldn't be in this precious paradise because they would have been killed in the final battle, it's…fake, Adam. Paradise isn't real. For us to be alive, really alive, we need hardship. Choices. How else are we supposed to be good people if we aren't tempted with the bad? How are we supposed to feel happiness without pain? How about love? It can't exist in a vacuum. Everything we are, everything we fight for, our very souls…would become meaningless."

"Tell me that after you've been slowly eaten by a ghoul," he said darkly, going to the fridge for his own beer.

"Yeah, I know, theological debate isn't the greatest right now, huh?" she asked, watching him snap off the top and down half of it in one gulp, his hands shaking. "But whether or not you agree with me, you should know…nothing is ever as it seems, especially with angels. They are manipulative, and petty. And now that you are important, they will do everything in their power to manipulate you. They've done it to Dean, and Sam. They've done it to me. Even to Castiel."

Adam sat back down in his chair, nursing his beer with a thoughtful look on his face. "And what exactly are you trying to do?" he asked. Eli sighed, crossing her arms and ankles and staring up at the leaky old ceiling.

"Inform you of your choices. Look, go to the angels, don't go to the angels, I don't care." He shot her a surprised look and she met his gaze evenly. "You're a grown man," she said. "And you have the right to make your choices. Sam and Dean want you to do one thing, the angels another. Everyone is trying to manipulate you into doing what they want. All I'm asking is, when you make a choice, do it with your eyes open. Consider the possibilities. The consequences. Understanding that everyone is lying to you is the first step to blocking them out and thinking for yourself."

He studied her face, pale and shadowed in the half-light. He liked how she spoke to him; it wasn't condescending like the others, and it wasn't preying on his familial bonds. He also liked how she looked at him, really looked at him, like a person, like a man, and not like a thing, a means to an end. Maybe it was the attention she was showing him, the honesty, but he found himself briefly wondering what her mouth would taste like, if she would be warm and pliant in his arms. "Are you manipulating me?" he asked in a low voice, trying to sound older than he was. She shrugged.

"Probably. I mean, I know what I believe. And honestly, I'd like nothing better than to lock you up here and spout the party line until it brainwashes you. I mean, I don't even really like you. You've been kind of dick to everyone, Adam. But I don't have the right to tell you what to do. I may sit here and physically keep you from leaving, because that is my job, but I will not treat you like you don't have a mind of your own."

She leaned forward, putting her palms flat on the table, fingers very close to his, and fixing him with an unnerving stare. "This is heavy shit, heavier than you've ever seen. And what is most important right now is our ability to believe in free will. Because without that, we're all heaven's bitches." They stared at each other for a long moment until he blinked, and the moment broke. Eli stood, plunked her empty bottle on the counter, and stretched like a cat. Adam watched appreciatively as a sliver of flat stomach came into view. "Don't ever let anyone tell you what to think," she said to him, dropping her arms. "Because everyone wants something, and if you don't know what it is you want, they will make you their toy. I guarantee it."

* * *

Adam was sitting in a park, feeling a warm summer breeze flow over his face. In front of him, children spun on merry-go-rounds and swung on swings, laughing happily. Overhead, the sky was a bright blue, a little too bright, letting Adam know that this was a dream.

"Your mom's not coming, you know," a voice said. Adam turned to the older man in a pristine suit that had suddenly appeared on the bench. The man smiled gently. "This is the park where your mom took you on her day off, right? She's not coming. Not yet. But she will…soon."

"You're Zachariah, right?" Adam asked, already knowing the answer. Zachariah nodded.

"I am. You weren't where you were supposed to be, kid."

Adam turned back to the playing children, his face pensive. "Yeah, I know."

"Can't quite zero in on you, either," Zachariah said with vague frustration. "So, let me take a wild guess. You're with Sam and Dean?"

Adam bobbed his head. "Yeah."

Zachariah frowned, not liking the apathy in the boy's tone. "Didn't we tell you about them?" Adam nodded again. "So you know you can't trust them, right?" he pushed, leaning toward Adam. "You know Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically, irrationally, _erotically_ codependent on each other, right?"

Adam looked at the angel, his eyes cautious. "I don't know. They said a few things about you."

Zachariah rolled his eyes. "Really? Trust me, kid, when the heat gets hot, they're not gonna give a flying crap about you. Hell, they'd rather save each other's sweet bacon than save the planet. They're not your family. Understand? Now...you want to see your mom again or not?"

Adam was silent for a long moment. Then he said: "Eli was there, too."

"The Nephilim," Zachariah growled. "Always a thorn in our side. You know she's responsible for an angel falling, right?" Adam looked at him, surprised. "Oh yes. She seduced him, right out from under us. She's a manipulative little minx. She can't be trusted."

"She said I can't trust you," he shot back, then turned away suddenly. Zachariah raised his eyebrows.

"She got to you too, huh, kid? Got a little crush, have we?"

"I don't have a crush," Adam muttered, staring at the ground, blushing. Zachariah patted his back.

"Hey, it's okay, you're only human. And I bet it's been a long time since you've seen a girl who's given you the time of day. I'll give her credit, she's a pretty thing." He paused, thinking, and a small, humorless smile curled the edge of his lips. "How about this? You tell us where you are, and we'll let you have her." Adam darted his eyes up with a shocked face, his mouth dropping open a little. Around him, the world became still, fake, the sky a flat, dissonant blue. "That sound like a good deal to you?"

* * *

"What do you mean, 'Adam is gone?'" Sam snapped, looking wildly between Eli and Bobby. "Both of you were watching him! How the hell is he gone?"

"He was right in front of me," Eli said wearily, sitting on the couch and staring at the ground. "Then he disappeared. The angels took him, I could feel it, but I …I couldn't stop it. They blocked me out." She felt like shit. After everything she had said, how hard she had tried to treat him with respect, get through to him, his final choice had still been them. She wanted to bash her head against the wall in frustration. What on earth could they possibly be offering him to make him go to them?

A breeze blew up, sending papers flying across the room, and Castiel appeared, a battered and bloody Dean slung over his shoulders. Eli stood, shocked, and rushed over to help him dump Dean on the cot.

"What the hell happened to him?" Sam asked. Castiel looked at him coldly.

"Me. "

"Wait a minute," Bobby said, holding up his hands. "How could the angels have taken Adam? Cas branded his ribs, didn't you?"

"Adam must have tipped them," Castiel said wearily. "Maybe in a dream."

Eli clenched her fists, resisting the urge to punch something. Sam took a deep breath and tried to take control of the situation.

"Well, where would they have taken him?"

* * *

Adam heard a genial chuckle coming from the other side of the room just as he took his first bite of a burger from the silver platter. "I see you and your brother share the same refined palate," Zachariah said, appearing before him. Adam swallowed and put the burger down, nervously rubbing his hands on the front of his jeans.

"So, uh…we ready?" he asked. The angel tilted his head, something malicious in his eyes.

"For what?" he asked innocently. Adam shifted on his feet, looking around as if for an escape, feeling claustrophobic. He was starting to regret his decision, but felt that there was no going back now.

"What do you mean, for what? For Michael."

Zachariah rolled his eyes and sighed. "Oh. Right. About that. Look, this is never easy, but I'm afraid we've had to terminate your position at this time."

Adam felt his blood run cold. Everything that Eli said came rushing back to him. _They will manipulate you…_

"Excuse me?" he choked out. Zachariah shot him a look that made him feel like he was nothing more than dirt under the angel's Italian-made shoe.

"Hey, don't get me wrong," he said, spreading his hands expansively and perching on the edge of the table. "You've been a hell of a sport, really. Good stuff. But the thing is, you're not so much the 'chosen one' as you are…a clammy scrap of bait."

Adam shook his head wildly, backing away. Bile rose in his throat. "No…but what about the stuff that you said? I'm supposed to fight the devil."

Zachariah shook his head, smirking darkly. Adam felt a surge of hate, deep in his stomach: the bastard was _enjoying_ this.

"Mmm, not so much," Zachariah sneered. "Hey, if it's any consolation, you happen to be the illegitimate half-brother of the guy we do care about. That's not bad, is it?"

"So you lied," Adam said hollowly, gripping the table to steady his shaking limbs. "About everything."

Zachariah's grin was all teeth, like a predator. "We didn't lie. We just avoided certain truths to manipulate you."

Adam heard Eli's warning echoed in Zachariah's tone. "Oh, you son of a bitch," he snarled, balling his hands into fists, letting anger wash over him and drown out the fear.

Zachariah's face became thunderous and somehow less human. "Hey, how do you think _I_ feel? I'm the one that's got to put up with that dumb, slack-jawed look on your face. Kid, we didn't have a choice. The Winchesters got _one_ blind spot, and it's family. See, Sam and Dean, they're gonna put aside their differences and they're gonna come get you, and that is gonna put Dean right…here…" He pointed to the ground triumphantly. "Right where I need him. This is the night, kid! _Our_ night. Michael's seen it. The tumblers finally click into place, and it's all because of you. And me. But who's keeping score?" He laughed a little, secure in his victory. Adam took a step forward, trying to sound brave.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna let you do this," he said, his voice breaking a little. Zachariah gestured at him to calm down.

"Cool your jets, corky. Sit down. We're doing it together. Plus, you still get your severance. You still get to see your mom, okay?" He smiled secretively. "Oh, and your other pay, as well. We offered Dean the Gilligan's Island girls once, but he declined. I think you're smarter than that. You know you can't get out of here, the ball is already rolling, so why not enjoy yourself a little? Our thanks for playing your part so well."

"What do you mean?" Adam asked suspiciously.

"Adam," said a soft voice from behind him. He spun around.

"Eli?" he asked incredulously, studying her. She was barefoot, wearing a white dress, her hair hanging in loose waves around her face. "What are you doing here?"

She took a step toward him. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" she asked in a strangely calm voice, placing a hand on his chest. Dimly he noticed that Zachariah had disappeared.

He shook his head. "This isn't real," he whispered hoarsely as she pressed herself flush against him, running her fingers through his hair. She smiled a little, bringing her lips to his ear.

"Does it really matter?" she asked, then kissed him. He hesitated for a moment, torn between whether to fight this or just give in. Her mouth moved against his and he groaned a little, wrapping his arms around her. She was as warm as he thought she would be. Zachariah was right about one thing: he was trapped here anyway. The world was ending. He might as well make good use of his time.

* * *

"The beautiful room is in an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys, California?" Dean asked incredulously, staring at the broken hull of a huge building. The pavement around them was filthy, cracked and covered in sprouting grass. The whole area smelled, oddly, of burnt rubber.

"Where did you think it was?" Castiel said, coming to a stop in front of the door. Dean looked around and shrugged, almost at a loss for words.

"I—I don't know," he sputtered. "Jupiter? A blade of grass? Not Van Nuys."

"Tell me again why you don't just grab Adam and shazam the hell out of there," Sam said. Castiel shared a look with Eli, who standing silent on the sidelines, watching the conversation and biting her lip anxiously.

"Because there are at least five angels in there," Castiel explained.

"So?" Dean asked. "You're fast." Castiel shook his head.

"They're faster." He took off his tie, wrapping it around his hand, and began to loosen the buttons on his shirt. "I'll clear them out. Once that's done, Eli will teleport in. The barriers are down on one side; she'll be able to get in, just not out again. She'll fend off Zachariah long enough for you two to come in and grab the boy. This is our only chance."

"Whoa, wait," Dean said, holding up his hands. "You're gonna take on five angels?"

Castiel nodded determinedly. "Yes."

Dean turned to Eli. "And you're gonna take on Zachariah single-handedly?" She nodded. Dean groaned. "You're both out of your fucking minds. Isn't that suicide?"

Eli wrapped her hand around Castiel's tie-covered one, holding it tightly. She had agreed to this insane plan beforehand, but standing here like this... it was getting difficult to breathe.

"Maybe it is," Castiel said, looking at her and squeezing her hand reassuringly. He glanced back up at Dean, his eyes stony. "But then I won't have to watch you fail. I'm sorry, Dean. I don't have the same faith in you that Sam does."

With his free hand, he pulled a box-cutter from his pocket and slid it open so that the blade gleamed dully in the light. Sam eyed it nervously.

"What the hell are you gonna do with that?" he asked. Eli stepped forward and plucked it from Castiel's grasp.

"I'll do it," she said. "We'll be back in a minute."

"Hello?" Dean asked sarcastically. "End of the world here? You can have your little powwow later."

"We'll be back in a minute," Eli said in a dark voice that broached no argument, turning away and leading Castiel around the side of the building, the box-cutter still in her hand.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she said when they were out of earshot, trying to stop tears from welling in her eyes.

"I must," he said gently, stopping and grasping her shoulders, forcing her to face him. "We cannot let Michael take a vessel. You know this."

She nodded, sniffing deeply. "You could die."

"So could you," he replied. "But trust that we won't." His words were soft, and as he spoke he pressed his forehead into hers and looked her in the eye. Eli leaned in impulsively and kissed him, a brief, lonely kiss, then pulled back and started unbuttoning his shirt in a no-nonsense manner.

"I can dull the pain," she said when it was hanging open. She pressed her hand flat against his chest, letting a cool numbing sensation spread through it. "You'll barely feel a thing."

Then she pushed the blade out all the way and dug it into his skin, carving a rough, bloody circle and biting her lip to keep from crying.

Castiel brushed hair from her eyes as she worked, marveling at her strength. "I love you, Eli," he murmured, causing her to catch her breath and pull the blade away abruptly. "I should have said it to you every day since the day we met," he continued in his rough voice, cupping her face in his hands. "I don't know why I haven't. I suppose I was scared." He gave a hollow laugh. "It seems stupid now, to be afraid of something like that. But I wanted you to know, in case…"

"Don't say it," she insisted, her nose and eyes red. He pressed on, kissing her forehead with all of the warmth and love in the world.

"You are everything to me," he whispered.

"You're not going to die," Eli said in a shaky voice. "You can't … what am I going to do if you die?" She let out a sob, the box-cutter hanging limply from one hand.

"Keep fighting," he said with surety. "Save the world."

She ran her fingers through his dark hair with her free hand, looking at him so fiercely it was like she was trying to memorize his every feature. "You are my reason to fight," she said, choking on her words. "I have…" Her voice broke and she had to take a deep breath before she could continue speaking. "I have loved you since the moment you first appeared in my dreams. You…you have to know this. And I will fff…fight…for this world, because…." Her voice dropped; it was getting harder to hold back the burning tears. "It led me to you," she finished harshly, squeezing her eyes shut.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "My brave Elijah," Castiel rasped, kissing away the tears that leaked from her eyes, finally reaching her mouth. She kissed him fiercely, pulling him closer but being careful not to brush the bloody cuts on his chest. Then she pulled away, resting her forehead against his for a moment and staring into his blue eyes.

"Come back to me," she whispered. He nodded.

"I will try."

Eli stood back, composing herself, and gave him a watery smile before pushing the blade up again and continuing to carve the familiar symbols into her love's skin.

* * *

The moment Castiel slammed his hand down onto that symbol and was blown away, Eli closed her eyes and concentrated, pulling herself into the room where Adam was.

She stumbled slightly as she arrived, still unused to landing, and surveyed the familiar too-clean white walls with a sick feeling in her stomach. There was a strange rustling and …moaning? coming from the partitioned area on the far side of the room. She walked toward it curiously, her boots silent on the marble floor, Castiel's angel-killing blade clenched tight in one hand.

"A…" Eli started, looking around the divider, but her voice died in her throat at the scene before her.

Adam was on the small white couch, his thin body moving over someone else, that person's oddly-familiar legs wrapped around him. His pants were down.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, unable to help herself. Adam jerked in surprise and fell off the couch, allowing Eli to see the woman's face for the first time. Her jaw dropped. "OH MY GOD!"

"Eli," Adam gasped, struggling to stand and zip his pants at the same time. "This is, uh…not what it looks like."

"WHAT THE FUCK, ADAM?" she yelled, pointing one trembling finger at the girl currently pulling her white dress down demurely. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? IS THAT ME?"

"I swear, it's not what it looks like," he insisted, starting to walk toward her, but stopped when he saw the pure rage in her eyes, and the fact that her whole body had started to glow. The other Eli vanished as quickly as she had appeared.

"OH REALLY?" Eli screamed, hands clenched and shaking with anger. "BECAUSE IT LOOKS LIKE WE JUST RISKED OUR NECKS TO SAVE YOUR SORRY ASS AND YOU ARE IN HERE FUCKING SOME GOD-DAMNED LOOK-ALIKE! YOU'VE KNOWN ME FOR WHAT, LIKE TWO MINUTES?"

"To be fair, she's a very good look-alike," a calm, smug voice interrupted them. "Made her myself. And please, Elijah, lower your voice. No use going ballistic over nothing. I'd consider it a compliment, really. But if you're that angry about it, here, let me punish him for you."

Adam doubled over, coughing blood and bile all over the white floor. Eli turned on the newcomer, her teeth bared. She crouched, holding the blade like a dagger. "Zachariah," she hissed. "I am going to kill you so dead."

The older angel smirked at her, smoothing the lines of his suit fastidiously. "You may have gotten a power upgrade, but you're nowhere near strong enough to kill me." He cocked an eyebrow and the sword grew hot in her hand. Eli swore, dropping it and cradling her burnt fingers against her chest. His smile grew. "And now I have you, right where I want you."

"Why do you care?" she spat. "Gonna offer me a grace again? When will you jackasses learn your lesson?"

"Oh, the time for that has passed," Zachariah said, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. "You had your chance to be one of us. No, we've decided to take the…offensive route."

"Meaning?" she growled.

"Meaning that Lucifer's not the only one who can use you as a weapon," he said. Eli paused, momentarily taken aback.

"No, you…" She shook her head, eyes widening in fear. "You don't have the collar."

"Well, technically, no," Zachariah said, and Eli breathed out in relief. "But we'll get it from Lucifer. We're going to get Dean to say yes—today in fact, in about five minutes. I bet he'll come bursting through that door any second. And once Michael has his vessel, all that's left is to defeat Lucifer and take the collar from him."

"What good is it to you?" she asked, looking frantically at the door, willing Dean and Sam to arrive. She just needed Zachariah to be distracted for one second so that she could grab the sword from the floor and stab him. She could hear them, dimly, on the other side, trying to break through. "I thought the world would be paradise after you kill the devil."

"It will be," Zachariah said genially. "But, you know how people are, can't take a good thing when it's handed to them. It'll be easier to keep everyone under control if it's …enforced paradise."

"You bastard," she snarled. "If you think I'm not gonna get out of here…"

"Oh, we know you probably will," he said with an air of _I know something you don't know._ "You're good at getting out of sticky situations. But I'd like to see you get out of this one while you're comatose."

Eli froze. "What?" she croaked. Zachariah merely smiled at her and stepped away from the wall, revealing the angel-banishing sigil he had scrawled in blood behind him.

"Sleep well, Elijah," he said.

"No!" she screamed, running at him, but it was too late: he had already pressed a palm to the center of the circle. The sigil flared to life, a white radiance bursting from it, blinding Eli. For a moment all was blazing light, filling her every sense, setting her skin on fire.

Then her soul was blown away and she collapsed, an empty body on the floor.

* * *

Eli woke up in a hospital.

Her head was pounding, her eyes strangely heavy and hard to open. She blinked with difficulty, squinting in the too-bright room. When she felt she could properly move her limbs she pulled herself into a half-sitting position on the pillows.

The walls around her were a light pink, bland and dotted with pastoral paintings. She had on a hospital's cotton shift, and a tube was running from her arm to a clear bag suspended above her.

Eli swallowed dryly and reached with one shaking hand to pull out the tube, wincing as it slid from her skin. Immediately the hole it left closed up, and she leaned back against the pillows, gathering her strength. It had been such a long way back to her body.

"Oh, my God," a voice said from the doorway. Eli cracked an eye open to see a heavyset nurse hovering just inside the room. Eli sighed in relief that she was not a demon. "I…I should get the doctor," the nurse said, backing out.

"Wait!" Eli called, stopping her in her tracks. She coughed a little, licking her dry lips. "Please. How long…how long have I been out?"

The nurse stepped closer to her, her face a mask of shock. "You were brought in about two weeks ago," she said in an almost reverent voice. "I can't believe this."

"Believe what?" Eli asked, struggling to sit up against the pillows. The nurse immediately moved to help her, holding her shoulder gently.

"Dear, you were…completely brain dead. We thought you would never wake up."

"I wasn't brain dead," Eli said, smiling weakly. "Just very far away."

The nurse looked confused, then glanced down at Eli's arm. "Oh, no. Did you pull that out?" she asked, holding up the cord. Eli sighed.

"I think I'm strong enough to go now. Thank you for taking care of me." The nurse opened her mouth to protest but Eli pressed two fingers to the woman's forehead, putting her instantly to sleep. "Sorry about that," she mumbled apologetically as the nurse crumpled to the floor. "World to save and all."

Eli squeezed her eyes shut, concentrated, and was gone from the bed in an instant, leaving only a light breeze and an unconscious nurse behind her.

* * *

She appeared in Bobby's house, still in her hospital shift, and immediately collapsed.

"What the hell?" Bobby's gruff voice rang out from the kitchen. He rushed to her, fumbling awkwardly with the wheelchair. "Eli? You're awake? How…"

She coughed, a harsh, grating sound, and let him help her to the cot near the window. The little bed was soft, the sheets smelling of smoke and the metal of old guns and mothballs and home. "Teleported," she said weakly, snuggling deeper into the bed as Bobby pulled covers over her shaking form. "Seems it drained me more than I expected. Still recuperating." She closed her eyes. "Just need a few more hours…"

Darkness claimed her, and Eli slept.

* * *

When she awoke, Sam and Dean were there.

"Hey sunshine," Dean said, leaning over her as she cracked open her eyes. He sounded calm but there was the slightest tinge of worry and relief that he was trying desperately to hide. "Welcome back to the land of the living. How're you feeling?"

"Like I just got my soul blown out of my body," she said in a cranky voice, sitting up and pushing hair out of her eyes. She looked, really looked at Dean for the first time, noting how, despite the premature lines around his eyes, the set of his mouth and shoulders was a little less defeated than it had been. "You…you said no to Michael," she said wonderingly, touching his hand. He smirked at her, trying to play it cool.

"And dragged your unconscious ass out of there just in time. Was there ever any doubt?"

Eli decided not to answer that question. "I'm glad," she said, squeezing his hand just a little. Then she pulled away, stretching, hearing the bones pop satisfyingly in her back and neck. "How long was I asleep?"

"About twenty-four hours," Bobby said, wheeling over and pressing a glass of water into her hand. "Out like a light, too. For a while we thought you had gone back into that coma."

"What happened, Eli?" Sam asked softly, sitting at the edge of her bed and resting his hand on her blanket-covered foot. "How did you find your way back?"

"Yeah, last time you had Anna to pull you home," Dean said, cracking open a beer and drinking. Eli sipped her water, thinking back to what had happened.

"It was dark," she remembered. "And cold. Very cold. Far. I could feel this…light, from so far away, and trying to get to it was like walking through a hurricane without feet." She looked up at them, the skin around her eyes shadowed and dim. "It was exhausting."

She paused, and asked, in a voice that clearly conveyed she was dreading the answer: "Have you heard from Cas?"

Dean and Sam glanced at one another. Finally Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, Eli."

Eli nodded and bit her lip so hard that she nearly drew blood. She tried, briefly, to sense him through their bond, but there was nothing, only a white static, like an old TV tuned to a dead station. "What happened after I…got sent away?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady and knotting her hands into the brown blanket like she was throttling someone. Dean cleared his throat.

"Well, the good new is, Zachariah is dead," he said. Eli glanced up at him in shock.

"How?"

"Dean stabbed him in the face," Sam said with satisfaction. Eli grinned a little.

"Thank you so much for that. I wish I could have seen it." She paused, her face falling. "What's the bad news?"

Dean wouldn't meet her eyes. "The angels have Adam," he said gruffly, swallowing a mouthful of beer and stepping to the window. He stared outside out of it with tired eyes; she noticed that he was thinner, his shirt hanging limply over his shoulders and chest. "We don't know what's been done to him, if he's even still alive." He paused, hanging his head as if reliving some personal failure. "And Gabriel is dead. Lucifer killed him. We're officially out of angelic allies."

"Oh," Eli said, looking back down at the mattress and swallowing dryly. "Shit."

"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head and continuing to drink. "It certainly is."

* * *

Eli finally got up the strength to leave the bed and stumble to the shower. She felt filthy; the hot water was like heaven over her skin. Once inside, she buried her face in her hands and began to cry, huge, heaving gasps until she could barely choke out any more tears. The water rained down on her head and face, dissipating the tears as soon as they appeared. She cried for a long time, trying to get it all out of her system so that she could return straight-faced and do her job, what she promised Castiel: Defeat the devil. Save the world.

Finally, the water ran cold and she was forced to get out. Her power was returning swiftly now, enough that her headache had disappeared and her muscles had stopped shaking. She felt almost like herself again, but there was still the hole inside of her that wouldn't go away, the almost unbearable grief.

She had just wrapped a towel around her damp hair and pulled on sweatpants and one of Bobby's old football sweatshirts when she heard Dean talking on the phone.

"Okay, well, Bobby's here, he'll wire you the cash."

"I will?" Bobby asked incredulously.

Eli tore open the door and bounded down the stairs three at a time. She skidded to a stop in front of Dean just as he was saying, with a sarcastic grimace: "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"Is that Cas?" she blurted out, her heart pounding frantically in her throat.

Dean nodded and said into the phone: "Hey, Eli's here, she wants to…"

Eli grabbed the phone from him and put it up to her ear. "Cas?" she asked tremblingly. "Are you okay?"

"Elijah," he said, and Eli nearly wept again at the sound of his rough voice. "I am alive. Are you all right? I heard that you were…indisposed."

"I'm fine," she said, laughing a little, one hand coming up to wipe happy tears from her eyes. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dean mouthing something at her. She dropped the phone from her ear for a second to hear.

"What?" she hissed, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

"He's human," Dean said. Eli's mouth dropped open and she spoke again into the phone.

"Is it true? Are you human?"

"Mostly," he answered, exhaustion and pain in his voice. "I'm in a hospital. Can you teleport?"

Eli nodded, then realized he couldn't see her and said: "Yeah, I can."

"Great." She could practically hear him wincing as he shifted on the bed. "Come get me."

Eli hesitated. She surveyed the room, the three men staring at her, waiting to see what would happen. The two brothers were standing in the kitchen, Sam propped against the countertop, Dean leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Bobby's arms were supported by the edges of the wheelchair, hands folded under his chin, ball cap pulled low over his eyes, watching the scene carefully. Then she shook her head. "No."

There was a pause. "I, uh…don't understand," Castiel said.

"The best place for you right now is a hospital," she said firmly. "You need to rest and get your strength back. We're going to take on Pestilence and that's no place for a sick man." The word _man_ sounded strange in her mouth, as she realized that's exactly what he was now, just a man, a breakable human. She wondered dimly if Jimmy was still in there somewhere, or if he had been blown away, leaving only Castiel in that body. "It'll be okay. I'm here with the guys. We'll go get Pestilence's ring and I'll come get you as soon as you're strong enough to travel."

"Eli, I want to be part of this," he insisted quietly.

"And I want you to live!" she snapped without thinking. Then her voice lowered. "The end is coming, Cas. We're gonna need you. So please, just…rest. Get strong. I'll see you soon."

"Eli…" he started, but she hung up on him.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, stepping away from the wall as she closed the phone and handed it back to him. "You're not going to get him?"

"He wouldn't be much help to any of us right now," she said, hands on her hips and chin raised as if daring someone to contradict her. "Now, are we gonna kill Pestilence or what?"

* * *

Sam and Dean stumbled, coughing and hacking, into the hospice room where Pestilence was sitting. Finally they collapsed on the floor, blood dribbling from their lips, pain racking their insides.

"Mmm," Pestilence said contemplatively, standing to inspect the incapacitated hunters. "You boys don't look well. Maybe it's the scarlet fever. Orrrrr the meningitis. Or…" He paused, chuckling, his long face smug. "The syphilis."

Pestilence crouched down near Sam's head, his thin body folding over like a stork, and grabbed Sam's hair. "However bad you're feeling right now?" he hissed into his face. "It's going to get so much worse."

Sam smiled at him through bloody teeth. "You stupid bastard…" he wheezed. Pestilence looked momentarily taken aback.

"What did you say?" he asked, standing. Dean raised his head, laughing through his coughs.

"We brought help," he gasped out. Pestilence looked at them both for a moment, his face a mask of confusion.

"What are you two idiots babbling about?" he asked sharply, fingering his ring. "'Cause I don't see any help. All I see are two pissant hunters dying of the plague."

"Hey, asshole," came a voice from behind him. Pestilence spun around just as Eli sliced downward, chopping his whole hand off in one broad stroke. It landed on the floor in a pile of green goo and blood.

Pestilence screamed, holding his bloody stump; so did the demon-nurse, who rushed Eli, her true face matted and distorted with hate. The hunter held out her hand, light flaring from her palm, and a moment later white radiance poured out of the demon's eyes and mouth as she was incinerated.

Dean struggled to his feet, taking long, deep breaths with miraculously cleared lungs, and pulled the ring off of Pestilence's severed hand. The horseman was still standing there, bleeding copiously, red running like a river down his arm and pooling on the floor.

Bizarrely, he was smiling. "Doesn't matter," he said in a sing-song voice to the three hunters. "It's already too late." He winked, then disappeared like he had never been there at all, leaving behind only the faint stench of decay and death.

The two brothers stared at the ring in Dean's palm. "What do you suppose he meant?" Sam asked in a low voice.

"Nothing good, that's for sure," Dean muttered darkly, curling his fingers around the ring and shoving it in his jacket pocket. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Eli wiped bloody hands on her jeans and followed the two brothers out. They had just left the room when Dean swung up an arm to stop them. "Do you hear that?" he hissed.

Eli listened: footsteps, coming closer.

"I thought everyone in this place was dead," Sam said quietly. Eli's face was grim.

"They are," she muttered, handing the Knife to Dean and pulling out her gun.

A moment later, Castiel rounded the corner and came into view. He was clearly exhausted, stumbling a little bit, a bloody scar still evident on his face, his eyes ringed with blue shadows. His trench coat and suit had clearly been cleaned, but were as wrinkled as Eli had ever seen them.

None of that mattered to her. The moment she realized who it was Eli dropped her gun and sprinted to him, slamming into his chest like a football player and nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Eli," he gasped out. "I am still weak. Breathing would be…pleasant."

She stepped away with a look of embarrassed consternation. "Oh, right. Here." She placed both hands on his chest and poured a little warm light into his body, healing his remaining injuries. "Good as new," she said, beaming at him. Castiel looked downtrodden.

"Not quite."

He pulled her back into a hug, burying his face in her yellow hair. "I am very glad that you are alive," he rasped softly. Eli rested her cheek on his shoulder, reveling in the steady beat of his heart and the smell of his skin.

"You too," she murmured.

"Cas!" Dean finally said, striding toward them and breaking the moment. "How did you get here?"

Castiel pulled reluctantly away from Eli, still keeping hold of her hand. "I took a bus," he intoned dryly. "I thought I could help, but it seems you finished the job without me."

Eli opened her mouth, wanting to chastise him for not staying in the hospital, but wisely snapped it shut again. She couldn't imagine what he was going through—being practically human, after a millennia of power and purpose. Feeling utterly useless and weak. It was like the world kept punching him in the face and he just had to stand there and take it. Impulsively she squeezed his hand and he looked at her with confusion, tipping his head and narrowing his blue eyes. It almost made her laugh in relief to see the familiar, too-intense look upon his face, to know that despite everything he was still the man she loved.

"Well, this has been a great family reunion, but, ah, can we get the hell out of the place that's filled with dead bodies?" Dean asked, practically shoving them down the hall. Castiel and Eli complied, following his leather-jacket clad form, fingers entwined. The world was ending, the floors were piled with green vomit and corpses, and Castiel was weakened and practically human, but Eli just wanted to smile.

He was here with her. There was still hope.

 


	15. Eleventh Hour Blues

 

 

"…so please," Dean said to Bobby in a long-suffering voice. "Tell us you have some good news."

The five of them were sitting in Bobby's living room, Bobby behind his desk, Dean and Sam in hard-backed chairs in front of it. Eli and Castiel were on the couch; Eli's head rested against the former angel's shoulder, her bare feet curled up under her as they listened to the conversation at hand. Castiel's face was pensive, his fingers moving absentmindedly up and down her arm, and Eli knew he was running through his head all of the things he could no longer do.

Bobby was silent for a long moment, drumming his blunt nails on the armrests of his wheelchair. Finally he looked up, the set of his mouth stern and determined, ball cap, as usual, pulled over his eyes. "Chicago's about to be wiped off the map," he said flatly. Dean sunk his head into his hands, closing his eyes as if to block out what he was about to hear. "Storm of the millennium. Sets off a daisy-chain of natural disasters. Three million people are going to die."

There was no response to this; the whole room just sat as if frozen. The blood had drained from Sam's face; Eli could feel her hands shaking. Finally, Castiel said, in a tone of tired confusion: "I don't understand your definition of good news."

Had it been any other situation, Eli would have laughed.

Bobby shot him a look. "Well," he said, as if speaking to an idiot. "Death – _the horseman_ —he's gonna be there. And if we can stop him before he kick-starts this storm, get his ring back…"

"Yeah," Dean said sarcastically, raising his eyebrows. "You make it sound so easy."

"Hell, I'm just trying to put a spin on it," Bobby snapped. Dean rolled his eyes.

"How…how did you put all this together, anyway?" Sam asked, resting his elbows on his knees, his lank hair falling into his eyes. Eli lifted her head off of Castiel's shoulder and leaned forward a little, curious as well.

Bobby looked suddenly embarrassed; if Eli didn't know any better, she would have said he was blushing. "I had, you know…help," he stuttered. Everyone stared at him blankly.

From behind them came the clink of a glass and the distinctive sound of liquid pouring. Heads turned. "Don't be so modest," said a clipped British voice that Eli would recognize anywhere. "I barely helped at all."

Crowley walked into the room in his dark coat, idly swirling a glass of whisky in his hand. "Hello, kids," he said, smiling. "Pleasure, etcetera." He lifted the glass to his nose, sniffed it, then made a disdainful face and placed it down on the desk next to him. He looked at Bobby with a smug grin. "Go ahead. Tell them," he urged. "There's no shame in it."

Four heads swiveled back to the man in the wheelchair. "Bobby?" Sam asked tentatively, a hint of worry in his voice. "Tell us what?"

Bobby squirmed a little under all the attention. "World's gonna end," he said belligerently, like he was daring anyone to counter his decision. "It seems stupid to get all precious over one little…soul."

Eli groaned and put her face in her hands.

"You sold your soul?" Dean exclaimed incredulously.

"More like pawned it," Crowley said helpfully. "I fully intend to give it back."

"So give it back!" Dean demanded, turning in his chair to glare at the demon.

"I will," Crowley said, narrowing his eyes.

"Did you kiss him?" Sam asked suddenly. There was silence; heads turned again to stare at Bobby, like they were watching a tennis match.

Bobby stuttered, noting with agitation all of the eyes focused on him. Finally he opened his mouth. "No!" he exclaimed, looking outraged.

"Ahem." Crowley cleared his throat demurely, sending everyone's attention back to him. He was holding out, of all things, an iphone, with an image loaded onto it. Eli tilted her head to see it better, a flurry of giggles erupting from her mouth at the sight of Bobby, eyes clearly shut in disgust, kissing the refined demon.

"Why did you have to take a picture?" Bobby groaned, closing his eyes. Crowley examined his photo with pride and shrugged.

"Why'd you have to use tongue?"

Eli let out a strangled, hacking cough to cover her laughter, and Bobby finally snapped. "You got a problem, girl?"

Eli shook her head, her eyes watering. "No, sir."

"Good," he grumbled.

"All right, I'm sick of this," Dean announced, standing up abruptly and approaching the demon, his voice low and dangerous. "Give him his soul back, now."

Crowley shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't."

"Can't or won't?" Dean demanded, getting in the demon's face. Crowley scowled.

"I won't, alright, it's insurance!" he snapped. "You kill demons." He nodded at Sam. "Gigantor over there has a temper issue about it. But you won't kill me." He looked impossibly smug, pulling the iphone slightly out of his pocket to make his point. "As long as I have that soul in the deposit box."

"You son of a bitch," Bobby ground out.

"I'll return it," Crowley promised. "After all of this is over, and I can walk safely away." He raised his voice, practically yelling in Dean's face. "Do we understand each other?"

There was silence. Crowley's eyes suddenly brightened as he stepped around Dean and walked over to the couch. "Speaking of which," he said, propping his arms on the back of it and leaning forward so that he was hovering over Eli. "I see someone's gotten a power upgrade. But it's not enough. Not nearly—I've noticed you didn't even have the juice to heal our Bobby from his little no-legs problem. Have you even thought about what we discussed?"

Eli stood abruptly and stepped back, looking him in the eye. "I've done all I can," she said sharply. "I'm going to help with what power I have."

Crowley shook his head. "Not a good idea. You could end all of this, you know."

"She's not doing it," Castiel growled, getting up to stand slightly in front of her, as if shielding her with his body.

"Protecting your honor. How quaint," Crowley said with a sneer. "But really, is he why you're not taking the big leap?" He looked around Castiel as if he wasn't there. "Or are you just too scared to face the consequences? One life for all of humanity—seems a bit selfish to me."

Everyone paused, staring at the demon curiously. Crowley looked around, as if surprised at the sudden silence. "Oh really, Eli, don't say you haven't told them."

"Shut it," she warned in a dangerous voice. Crowley merely smiled at her and continued.

"Powering up, it's a risky thing. If our Eli here goes nuclear without the collar, she'll blast Satan to hell, saving, oh, what is that phrase you use? A boatload of people. Whole world, really. But she won't, because she's scared. Five minutes of unimaginable power, and then…" He snapped his fingers and shrugged. "You get the picture. What's one girl compared to stopping the devil, eh?"

"You'll die?" Sam asked hesitantly. "For real?"

Castiel stared at her in horror.

"I'd call it a heroic sacrifice, personally," Crowley said blithely, picking up his discarded whisky and taking a tiny sip. "Really, you lot need to rethink your priorities. It's the end of the world. We can't afford to be selfish."

* * *

Sam found Eli sitting on Bobby's back steps, staring up at the fading sky, the color of a bruise, and sipping her beer pensively. He sat down next to her, long legs folded underneath him.

"Hey," he said softly. Eli sighed.

"I didn't know," she said in a low voice. He merely looked at her, confused, so she elaborated. "About your plan to say yes to Lucifer. If I had, I would have…"

"You don't have to apologize," Sam said, taking a pull from his beer. "Facing down your own death, it's…tough, to say the least."

She was quiet for a moment. "Gabriel told me," she said finally in a stilted voice. "About how I would die. My soul would be pulverized, that's what he said. No heaven, no hell, just…nonexistence." She drank deeply, using it as an excuse to stall her words. "I promised him not to try. I thought that…maybe he knew something I didn't. But now he's dead and I…" She put the beer bottle down and turned to face Sam. "I'm tired of hesitating. I can do this, Sam. I want to do this."

Sam shook his head. "You don't have to."

"Yes, I do," she insisted. "Because what other choice do we have? You say yes to Lucifer and, best case scenario, get dragged to hell. Worst case, the world gets roasted. Worst-worst case, world gets roasted and I'm collared and the one doing it. I can't let that happen, Sam."

"I can beat him," Sam said, rubbing his temples as if to fend off a migraine. "I know I can. In the end, it comes down to me or you. Who is more willing to die." He laughed a little. "It seems we're both fighting over the honor."

"I can't let you walk into this knowing I could have done something about it," Eli said, her voice shaking. "I would never be able to live with myself."

"And vice versa," Sam countered. "Look, Eli, you're a good person, you are. I know your life has been fucked up lately, but…it's nothing compared to mine. I betrayed my family, for a demon. I got addicted to demon blood. I killed innocents. I set Lucifer free. And it's my, and only my, responsibility to lock him back up again. You have to trust me."

She was silent for a moment, her hands pulling on loose threads at the cuffs of her jeans. "What if you fail?" she asked quietly. Sam squinted into the darkening night, noting absently that the stars were coming out, dim and shadowed behind clouds in a moonless sky.

"Then you break your powers out and kick some serious devil ass," he said.

Eli didn't respond; there was nothing else to say. They just sat there together and watched the stars, waiting for daybreak and the end of the world.

* * *

Castiel was helping Bobby load guns into the back of the truck. He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and tried to stem the wave of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him.

"What's your problem?" Bobby asked testily.

Castiel turned to him, a gun hanging limply from one hand. "This is what they call the eleventh hour, right?" he asked, his voice a bit harsher than normal.

"Pretty much," Bobby said, continuing to pack the over-sized army bag in lap.

"Well, then, it's the eleventh hour and I am…useless," Castiel said dully. He held up the gun like it was a foreign object. "All I have is this. What am I even supposed to do with it?"

"Point it and shoot," Bobby snapped. Castiel shook his head despairingly.

"What I used to be…" he started, but was cut off by Bobby's irritated snarl.

"Are you really gonna bitch? To _me_?"

Castiel looked at him sadly. "It's not just that. Elijah…she could end all of this and die herself. It shouldn't…" He stopped abruptly, inhaling and breathing out through his nose. " _I'm_ the warrior for God," he said shakily. "It should be me sacrificing myself. She didn't even trust me enough to tell me. Because all I would do is get in her way, mere mortal that I am." He ended his rant with a humorless laugh. "Guess the tables have turned completely."

Bobby rolled toward him. "All of you stupid people, just lining up to become martyrs. Did any of you ever stop to think that it might be the cowardly thing to do, sacrificing yourself? That you all want to do it because it's easier than staying here, in this miserable existence, alone? Hell, we're all gonna die eventually, right? It's just a matter of who gets to jump in first, and who has to wait around a few more years." He tossed the bag to Castiel, who caught it in a dazed manner. "Now stop whining and load the damn truck."

* * *

Eli went with Sam, Castiel, and a (thanks to Crowley, the smug bastard) newly-walking Bobby to stop the zombie apocalypse. She stayed silent for most of the ride, hunched on the floor at the back of the van with the guns and the salt and explosives, thinking over her options.

It was very hard for her to sit back and let Sam take point, especially when she knew how dangerous and flawed his plan was. But she also understood his determination to stop this himself, knew how deeply he must feel his mistakes and how he would live with such incapacitating regret if he let someone else give their life to fix them. And, truth be told, she was scared. It felt shameful to admit that, as the world was ending, but there it was: she was terrified of dying, of nonexistence. The thought of it shook her down to her very core.

After a while, Castiel slid back to sit with her. She curled into his chest, feeling his warmth flood through her cold veins. His smell calmed her, the familiar scent of skin and laundry detergent and summer and clean air flooding her senses, making her feel like she was home. For a while he simply held her, saying nothing. Then, in a small voice, he said: "I'm alone in here, now."

"What do you mean?" Eli asked tiredly, playing with one of his hands, entwining her fingers in his. He sighed and kissed the top of her head.

"After Van Nuys, when I woke up in the hospital…I was alone, in my head, in this body. Jimmy is…gone. I think whatever remained of his soul was blown away in the blast."

"Oh," Eli said, a little sadly. "I hope he got to go to Heaven. I liked the guy. We talked once…seems like a long time ago. He was a good man."

Castiel rested his chin on top of her head and stared outside at the dark highway. "I do not know."

They were quiet for a long time, just reveling in the other's presence while Sam and Bobby talked in hushed voices in the front seat. Finally, Castiel spoke again.

"How would you do it?"

She looked up at his face, shadowed and briefly illuminated by the lights flying by outside. "Do what?"

"Convince an Archangel to kill you." His voice was flat, almost disconnected, but Eli knew this was a front. "They're very particular about who they kill."

She shifted slightly in his arms, trying to get more comfortable against the hard floor, and he tightened his grip around her as if afraid she would disappear. "Crowley said to make them mad," she said softly. "So I figure if I kill one of their charges it'll set them off."

"What charge?" he asked suspiciously.

"Chuck," she said without emotion. It was getting harder and harder to feel things, like all of the fear and the guilt and desperation had piled up so high that she had blocked it out to keep from going crazy. "I would have to kill Chuck."

Castiel said nothing, just pulled her closer. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

When they got to the factory, a truck was already pulling out. Eli flashed into it, knocking the driver unconscious, then quickly returned to help the rest of them smoke out the demons and save those not infected.

Sam was the bravest of them all. She watched with something close to awe as he ran in again and again to save every last person. Bobby noticed it too; she could tell when she caught his eye, saw the admiration and pride reflected in the old hunter's face. It was then that Eli realized, with irrevocable certainty, that Sam was the one to do it. He had it in him. Despite all the darkness around them, he had the strength, and Eli wasn't going to stand in his way, not until she was absolutely sure that he had failed.

When the last innocent was saved and the last Croat killed, Eli ushered the rest of them out and stood in the warehouse alone. She spread her arms, calling her newfound powers to their highest point, and felt a white fire dance along her arms, one that was cool against her skin and did not burn her.

The whole building went up in flames.

 


	16. The Song Of The Swan

 

 

The Devil was in Detroit, just as he always said he would be.

Sam, Dean, Eli, Castiel and the Impala were waiting in a cold dark alley in downtown Detroit. Across the street was an abandoned apartment building, its windows mostly boarded up. Eli could sense that Lucifer was here, feel the strange tint of polluted light that he emitted. It frightened her, being so near to him, knowing what he had in his possession and what he could do with it. She shivered slightly, her leather jacket not enough to keep out the deep chill that was settling in her bones. Castiel noticed and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her toward him while they waited.

After a few minutes Bobby emerged from the darkness, his face resigned. "Demons," he said without preamble. "At least two dozen of them. You were right - something's up."

"More than something," Dean said darkly. "He's here. I know it."

Eli nodded, still shivering. "I agree. He's definitely here."

Sam took a deep breath and pushed himself off of the hood of the Impala, walking first to Bobby. They all knew what was coming; Eli, for one, just wanted to get through her goodbyes without crying, but she could already feel the telltale burning behind her lids.

"I'll see ya around, kid," Bobby said gruffly, pulling Sam into a hug.

Sam attempted to smile bravely. "See ya around."

Bobby put his hands on Sam's shoulders, looking him straight in the eye, as scared and as proud as a papa bear with his cub. "He gets in..." Bobby said, choking a bit on his words. "You fight him tooth and nail, you understand? Keep swingin'. Don't give an inch."

Sam nodded grimly. "Yes, sir."

He then approached Castiel and held out his hand to shake. "Take care of these guys, okay?" he said with false confidence. Castiel removed his arm from around Eli's shoulders but did not take Sam's hand, instead looking down in shame.

"That's not possible," he said, shaking his head.

Sam rolled his eyes, his grin like a grimace. "Then humor me."

Castiel's head jerked up. "Oh," he said, a little embarrassed. "I was supposed to lie." He twisted his usually impassive face into something that attempted to look carefree but just made him look like someone with a bizarre facial tick. "Uh... sure," he said, slurring his words into a strange accent. "They'll be fine. I –"

Sam held up his hands pleadingly. "Just - just stop...talking."

Finally he turned to Eli, whose eyes were already red. "Eli…" he began, but she cut him off by leaping into his arms and hugging him with all her might.

"You fight him, Sam," she said into his shirt. "Promise me you'll fight him as hard as you can."

"I promise," he said, and then on impulse leaned down and kissed the top of her head. She pulled back, looking at him with watery eyes. "Thanks for everything, Eli."

She nodded and swallowed deeply, laughing a little to disguise her tears. "I can't believe I'm letting you do this," she said in a weak voice.

He hugged her one last time. "If I fail," he said softly into her ear, so softly that no one else could hear it. "You know what to do. I'm trusting you, Eli."

She nodded into his shoulder. "I know. Be strong, Sam. Kick his ass all the way back to hell."

"Will do," he said, then released her and stepped away. Dean was leaning by the trunk of the Impala, watching everything through haunted eyes. Sam stopped in front of the jugs of demon blood and eyed them nervously. "You mind not watching this?" he said to Dean.

"Okay," Dean said immediately, pushing himself off of the wall and walking to join the others, where they gathered in a rag-tag line, staring at the building across the street.

After a few minutes Sam slammed the trunk down and burst forward, his whole stance jittery with power. "Let's go," he said with way too much energy, walking past everyone. Dean shot them a look, and followed his brother. Bobby, Eli, and Castiel watched them go.

* * *

Dean returned alone. All he had to do was shake his head, and they knew hope was lost.

An hour later found the four remaining warriors standing in front of a television store, watching the news through a window. "Reports are flooding in," the news reporter was saying, trying to disguise her nervousness. "A 7.6 earthquake in Portland, 8.1 in Boston, more in Hong Kong, Berlin, and Tehran. The U.S.G.S. has no explanation, but says to expect a six-figure death toll."

"It's starting," Castiel intoned unnecessarily. Dean scoffed.

"Yeah, you think, genius?"

Castiel turned away, hunching his shoulders, his eyes shadowed and tired. "You don't have to be mean."

Eli watched the exchange through narrowed eyes but stayed out of the conversation, biting her thumbnail pensively. Dean fidgeted, glancing back and forth between the television and the powerless angel. "What do we do now?" he asked, clearly raring to go.

Castiel sighed. "I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol and ... just wait for the inevitable blast wave," he ground out with hopeless apathy.

"Swell," Dean snapped irritably. "Thank you, Bukowski. I mean, how do we stop it?"

"We don't." Castiel's voice was totally flat and left no room for argument. He turned back to Dean, shoving his hands in his pockets, already wondering if he would be able to spend his last hours in some hotel room with Eli, or if that would seem like he was abandoning them. At that moment, he didn't really care. "Lucifer will meet Michael on the chosen field, and the battle of Armageddon begins."

"Okay, well, where's this chosen field?" Dean asked impatiently. Castiel hung his head.

"I don't know."

"Well, there's got to be _something_ that we can do," Dean said, throwing up his hands and starting to pace in restless circles.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel muttered with grim finality. "This is over."

Dean approached him and jammed a finger in his face. "You listen to me, you goddamn sissy - we are not giving up!" He spun around. "Right, Bobby?" He paused, waiting for an answer. "Bobby?"

The older hunter's skin was the color of ash, his very stance that of a beaten dog. Dean could see the hopelessness in his eyes. "There was never much hope to begin with," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know what to do."

"I can't believe this," Dean moaned. "Okay then, well what about Eli? She's still got her special powers, right? We can use that, figure something out." He looked around him, finally spinning in a circle. "Eli? Where the hell are you?" Castiel looked too, but saw nothing but strangers.

"She's gone," Castiel rasped, feeling his stomach drop. Dean looked at him.

"Where?"

"My guess would be to Chuck," he said listlessly. Dean stopped in his tracks and tilted his head in confusion.

"Why?"

Castiel sighed. "Because she's going to kill him."

* * *

Eli appeared in Chuck's house just as the prophet was speaking to Dean. Through the telephone she could dimly hear the elder Winchester's frantic voice.

_"Well, do you have any idea what's gonna happen next?"_

Chuck shook his head, his back to her; he hadn't yet realized she was in the room. "I wish that I did. But I-I just - I honestly don't know yet."

_"All right. Thanks, Chuck. And hey, one more thing. You should probably get out of your house. For your own safety."_

"'Cause of Eli?" Chuck asked with exhaustion in his voice. "Sorry, Dean, it's too late, she's already here." He turned to face her with resignation. "Hey Eli. Dean's on the phone. You wanna say hi?"

* * *

Chuck was taking his impending death rather well, Eli thought. He even convinced her not to do it right away, but to wait for the final battle.

"You shouldn't do this," he said, walking over and handing her a glass of whisky, his bathrobe limp and dirty around him, his beard a mess of wiry hairs. "You should give Sam a little more time. Have faith; he might pull through."

Eli accepted the drink and sipped it, letting the harsh liquid burn its way down her throat. "How long should I wait?" she asked dully, sitting on the kitchen counter and leaning her head back against the cabinets. "How long until all hope is lost?"

"The final battle is at noon tomorrow," Chuck said, shrugging. "At least give them until then."

"Last minute rescue, eh?" she asked, raising her glass as if to toast him. She took another drink. "Hey, Chuck."

"Hmm?" he asked, sitting back down in front of his computer and beginning to type away.

"Why aren't you more afraid? Of dying?"

He looked at her over the top of the computer. "Oh, I am," he said. "But the world is ending. Guess I'm hoping that when push comes to shove you won't have to do it."

"That's a lot of hope you've got," she said listlessly, finishing her drink and reaching for the bottle next to her. Chuck smiled a little, returning to his typing.

"I like to think of it as faith."

Eli was silent, drinking her whiskey. Finally she asked: "Will you tell me? When you know what's going to happen?"

Chuck met her eyes for a brief moment. "The second it comes to me," he promised. She nodded, pulling off her boots and letting them clunk heavily to the floor.

"Noon tomorrow, huh? Guess I better make myself comfortable."

* * *

Daybreak came sooner than Eli expected.

She had long ago finished the bottle of whiskey, but oddly enough didn't feel drunk. She wondered if it was like when Castiel was still an angel, how he had to drink an entire liquor store to get wasted. Oddly enough, the memory made a smile quirk her lips. She thought of him, with his bed-messy hair and his brilliant blue eyes and that perpetual furrow in his brow, the soft hollow of his throat, his low growl of a voice, the way his beautiful long-fingered hands moved. The light that shone from him, calming as a summer's day. His constant confusion over this human existence, how Sam and especially Dean so often baffled him with their relentless cultural references. The taste of his skin, how his fingertips were slightly rough, like a warrior's. The way he said her name, so sweetly, as if he could barely believe she was there with him.

Eli remembered first meeting him, how he was nothing more than a hovering beam of light in a dream, the closest she ever got to seeing his true form. She remembered how he didn't understand her laughter when he appeared one night in Jimmy's pajamas, how he had been with her night after night in their own dream world, showing her with gentle patience how to use her fledgling powers. Those days seemed so long ago now, like another life, back when she was just an abomination, and he was her reluctant teacher.

She remembered when he shielded her from Anna's light with his body, that brief in-between moment when they found themselves in each other's arms for the first time. How he cupped her face in his hands on the bridge for their first kiss, his lips so tentative and unsure, the snow like icy feathers around them. Lying next to him after making love and hearing his soft, infrequent laugh, and seeing that smile, his teeth perfectly even and white in the darkness of the room. How he purred when she kissed the tender place where his jaw met his neck. How he jumped her in the motel room with Sam and Dean when under Famine's influence—that brought a small smile to her face, remembering his blushing embarrassment afterward. How he told he loved her, outside of the warehouse, while she was cutting banishing sigils into his skin. All of the little touches, a hand in hers, arms around her waist, foreheads pressed together, lips gently caressing the top of her head.

Eli bit back a sob. She hated that she hadn't been able to kiss him one last time, give him a proper goodbye. She felt like she had proven all of them right, those who said she was selfish and self-sacrificing, that she would cut and run in the end. But she couldn't bear to see his face and tell him she was going. She knew that, had he asked her to stay with him, she wouldn't have been able to drag herself away. The whole world would have gone up in flames because Eli couldn't stand to leave the man she loved.

Chuck was still typing furiously. Eli glanced outside: the sun was nearly at its apex. Her whole body felt paper-thin and exhausted, like a strong wind would blow her away. For what she was about to do, maybe that was a good thing.

 _My last moments on earth,_ she thought, squinting into the bright daylight. _I'm so sorry. My Castiel. How I wish they could have been with you._

She wondered, briefly, what he was doing at that moment. She could still sense the brand on her soul, hot, flaring weakly in response to their combined distress. Unconsciously her hand went up to her heart, feeling it beat with a steadiness that was unnerving. It was time.

"Don't do this, Eli," Chuck said softly, and she jerked out of her reverie. He was standing in front of her; at some point he had changed, his shirt now clean and white, his hair and beard neatly trimmed. He looked sad and entirely too peaceful.

"Do you know what's happening?" she demanded. "Is Sam going to win?"

Chuck hesitated, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, it's just not coming to me. But you have to have faith, Eli."

"Faith in what?" she growled, hopping off the counter, the tile floor cool under her dirty socks.

"Just…faith," he said gently. "You don't have to do this. No one will blame you if you walk away. Let Sam fight his battle. You know it's his to fight."

Eli sighed and hung her head. "And you know I can't risk that," she said, so exhausted she started to cry. "I can't risk the fate of the world on faith alone."

He put a hand on her shoulder, his voice very calm and wise. "If you can't risk it on faith," he said. "What can you risk it on?"

Eli lifted her chin to look him in the eye. Tears dripped freely down her face.

"I'm so sorry, Chuck," she said, really meaning it.

She drew her arm back, and stabbed him in the stomach.

He gasped, nearly falling into her, his eyes bulging. Eli jammed the knife deeper, feeling it slice through his insides. Blood fell warm onto her shirt and socks, soaking through the thin material and pooling sticky on the ground. After a moment she jerked the knife out again, watching as he stumbled backwards, hands clutching the wound in his stomach. His mouth moved frantically, trying to say something, but all that came out were a few frothing red bubbles. He hit the wall, his white shirt and writer's hands stained a deep maroon, then slid down it until he was a heap on the floor, eyes open, head to the side, like a broken doll.

White light began to fill the room, shrieking and rattling her insides with an intensity that she had never felt before. Eli flung the bloody knife to the ground and spread her arms.

"I'm here, you bastard!" she screamed into the descending fury. "Yeah, that's right, I killed your precious prophet! You gonna do something about it?"

The light surrounded her, shaking her to pieces, burning her down to her rapidly shattering bones. Eli tilted her head back and closed her eyes, arms still outstretched.

Then she exploded.

 


	17. And So It Goes

 

 

Like a magnet pulling together a billion particles of dust, Eli could feel herself being slowly recollected, first her chest and stomach, then her hips, arms, legs, head, fingers and toes. Her bare feet touched the ground lightly, like they weren't really there. Oddly, the shattered floor didn't have any blood on it, but she didn't notice that right away. She didn't even notice that she was naked; it didn't seem to matter anymore.

The power thrumming through her was immense. Almost as soon as she became whole again she could feel it crushing her, the way the pressure of a black hole crushes everything in its path into nonexistence. It was almost too much to bear, this feeling; she could sense the whole world and all the worlds beyond it, all of the people, the hopes and dreams and fear and hate, the burning of the sun, the turning of the earth under her feet, spinning at billions of miles a second.

"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" said a familiar voice, and Eli's head jerked up. Chuck was standing in front of her, shirt clean and crisp, his arms crossed, a wry look on his face. "Eli, Eli, Eli. I told you to have faith."

Knowledge of who and what he really was filled her soul, and she collapsed on the floor in front of him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, face to the ground. "I… I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," he said with mild amusement. "And stop groveling. You're an incredibly powerful being now, Eli. You should be standing tall." He waited as she collected herself. "Maybe put on some clothes, too," he suggested. Eli smiled a little, a white dress appearing around her body. "Much better."

"So you… the whole time?" she stuttered. He nodded calmly.

"Me, the whole time."

"What happens now?" Eli asked, staring at him with confusion and awe. She could see the light dancing around him, more beautiful and powerful than anything she had ever experienced, more than herself at this moment, with her crushing weight and her vast perception. She felt like she could burn the world to a cinder in a moment if she so desired, but he…he could rebuild it with a thought, make it bloom from nothing. He was life personified.

"Well," Chuck said, folding his hands in front of his immaculate white shirt. "Now Sam's going to beat the devil. I knew he had it in him." He paused, frowning slightly. "You'd probably be interested to know that the collar's going to be gone as well, trapped in Lucifer's pocket for all eternity, totally useless. Michael's going in the pit, too, but I don't think you really care too much about dear old Dad."

"And Cas?" she asked, lifting her eyes, totally green without the hint of white or pupil, to his. He met her gaze with the ghost of a gentle smile on his lips.

"You love him very much, don't you?" he said in a soft voice. "He is fine. Better than fine. He is an angel again. He deserves it."

Eli bit her lip. "And what about me?" she asked, twisting her glowing hands in the folds of her white dress. "Have I destroyed myself for nothing? Am I just going to fade away for no reason at all?"

"Well, final battle-wise, I'm going to say yes," Chuck said matter-of-factly. Eli squeezed her eyes shut, feeling despair well up inside of her chest. "But that doesn't mean that you can't do some good with the little time you have left."

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking up, but it was too late.

The room was empty.

* * *

Dean crouched in despair over the spot where his brother had been pulled into the cage, his fingers numbly picking up the four interlocking rings that still lay on the yellowed grass. His face was a mass of purple and blue bruises, swelling so greatly that he looked deformed, but he didn't even notice the physical pain. They were dead, all of them, everyone in his life who mattered. His brother gone forever, locked in eternal torment with the devil. He was hopelessly and utterly alone.

The sound of shifting feet caught his attention. Dean looked up in amazement as Castiel leaned over him, his trench coat and suit immaculate, showing no signs of his previous explosion.

"Cas, you're alive?" Dean croaked out, barely able to speak through his twisted mouth. Castiel smiled gently, brushing the wounded hunter's face with his fingers. Immediately all of the injuries were gone, leaving Dean looking like he was never in a fight at all.

"I'm better than that," he said in a soft voice. Dean squinted up at him, the daylight near-blinding.

"Cas…are you God?" he asked wonderingly. Castiel cracked a small smile.

"That's a nice compliment. But, no. Although, I do believe he brought me back." He turned away, striding toward Bobby's corpse, his trench coat fluttering behind him on a nonexistent breeze. "New and improved," he muttered, his tone tinged with sadness.

Castiel crouched down by Bobby's head and laid his fingers against the older man's broken neck. Immediately Bobby sat up and gasped, his eyes clearing. His hands flew to his chest, then his face, unable to believe that he was still alive. He locked eyes with Castiel and the angel nodded to him, reaching out a hand and helping him to his feet.

The three survivors stood in a loose circle. Dean looked like he was in shock. Castiel's mind was far away, his hands shoved in his pockets, squinting into the distance, characteristically silent. Finally Bobby cleared his throat.

"So what do we do now?" he asked.

Just then, a strong breeze blew up, sending fallen leaves and blades of grass spiraling into the air. Dean groaned. "Now what?" he muttered, head in his hands.

The wind died down and a very warm, soft glow filled the cemetery. "Hi, guys."

Everyone turned. Castiel's mouth dropped open. He took a step forward, shaking his head desperately. "No…" he croaked.

Eli smiled at him with her eerie eyes, her hair rippling behind her like she was underwater. Underneath her feet, the dead yellow grass sprouted thick and green. "I'm so sorry, Cas," she said. "It looks like I missed the fight."

"Shit, Eli," Dean said, taking in her glowing form. "You really fucked up this time, didn't you?"

"Guess I did," she conceded. "I should have had faith, Dean. You and your brother—you had it in you the whole time. I know that now."

"So that's it then?" Bobby asked, his gruff voice close to tears. "You just gonna implode in a couple minutes?"

Eli nodded. "Afraid so."

"But what's the point of it all?" Bobby exclaimed, as close to hysteria as she had ever seen him. "We lose one more in this stupid fight, for no goddamned reason?"

Castiel stayed silent, just staring at her with so much pain reflected in his eyes it was almost too much to bear. Eli stepped closer to them, the ground under her bare feet blooming where she walked.

"It's not entirely a waste," she said. "I can help, in my way."

"What way?" Dean asked harshly. Eli tilted her head and looked up at the sky, a very sad smile curving her mouth.

"All of the earthquakes, the storms, the demon attacks—everything that has happened since the start of this fight has been wiped from the record. Families are now whole again. Millions of lives have been spared. The people, they don't even remember what happened to them, all of the pain and terror of these past months. The apocalypse is now nothing more than a bad dream."

"You can do that?" Dean asked with something close to awe in his voice.

"And more," she said, lacing her fingers demurely in front of her. "Every monster, beast, demon, and vengeful spirit has been eradicated, over the entire earth. There is nothing for you to fight anymore. Nothing to kill." She paused, spreading her hands apologetically. "It won't last forever, of course. More spirits will appear, more demons will escape from hell, monsters will be made. It's inevitable. But at the very least it will give you and your brother a few months of respite."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. "What did you just say?" he croaked. Eli merely smiled and looked behind him. Slowly Dean turned, hoping against hope and absolutely terrified of what he would find.

Sam lay face-up on the grass, arms spread-eagle, his eyes closed, breathing shallow and even. "Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, rushing over to him. He felt like a huge, crushing weight had been lifted off of his shoulders at the sight of his brother sleeping there, like the sky was brighter and the wind sweeter and that somehow good still existed in the world. He dropped to his knees, hands on Sam's face, laughing through his tears. "Hey Sammy, wake up!"

"Give him time," Eli advised. "He's been through a lot. He needs his rest." Bobby looked at her like he was about to ask a question and she nodded. "Don't worry. It's just him in there. Lucifer stayed down in the pit."

"Thank you," Dean choked out, raising his eyes from his brother to stare at her. "God, Eli, thank you so much."

"You're welcome," she said softly, then suddenly gasped and doubled over in pain. The pressure had ratcheted upward, crushing her lungs and head like a vice, bearing down on her with an almost unbearable weight. Castiel finally shook himself out of his shock-induced paralysis and ran over to her. "It's started," she whimpered, clutching his arm. "I can feel it, inside of me, tearing me apart."

"No," Castiel said roughly, holding her like she was a lifeline, like if he just refused to let go he could keep her with him. Her skin under his palms was hot, too hot, burning up. Small crackles of electricity moved snakelike across her body. "No, this can't happen. I won't let it happen."

"You don't have a choice," Eli said weakly. She straightened and cupped his face in her hand, trying to smile through her tears. "I love it when you have stubble," she murmured, running her fingers along his cheek. "You look best all disheveled."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Don't," he pleaded. "Don't go."

"Cas," she whispered, her hands moving to caress his dark hair. "It'll be okay."

He kissed her desperately, first her mouth, then her chin and cheeks and forehead and closed eyelids. "I love you," he said in a broken voice.

The pressure inside of Eli was almost too much to take; she felt like her very molecules were being flattened, compressed into her very own black hole. "Always," she murmured. "More than anything. Even God Himself knows how much I love you."

She kissed him once more, drawing him to her, feeling with unsurpassed sensitivity how soft his lips were, how they fit so perfectly over hers, how wonderful he smelled, and tasted. Then she released him and stepped back, her whole body trembling with the effort of keeping herself together. "It's time."

Eli took a deep breath, and prepared to let go.

Castiel reached for her again, and in doing so felt something small and strange jingle in his trench coat, something that hummed with a high-frequency song, something that wasn't there a moment before. He frowned, dipping his hand into his pocket, fingers brushing a smooth, cool object. He pulled it out wonderingly.

"It's a grace," Castiel said, squinting at it, perplexed. Eli stood very still, watching as it dangled from his fingertips on a silver chain, the colors inside swirling like tiny constellations. "How did it…?"

Eli shook her head. "No," she whispered. "No, this can't be real. It's too late for me. I've released all of the power, I can't go back." She was in so much pain at this point, every word a battle. It was too late. Hope was useless, the last resort of a dying woman.

She wondered, briefly, if this was Chuck's idea of a joke.

Castiel held it out to her. "Try," he said, pressing it into her hand, where it lay cool, like an oblong stone. "Please, Eli, try. There has to be a reason for this, there has to be." His voice cracked with hope and desperation.

"I can't," she whimpered. "It hurts too much. I'm already gone." She could feel the hand wrapped around the grace start to disintegrate, particles floating up to the heavens. She just wanted to _rest._

"Try!" Castiel insisted frantically.

Eli met his eyes, feeling the force of his love wash over her; she realized, in that instant, that she didn't want him to hurt. More than anything: her life, the world, God, the whole damn universe and everything in it, she just didn't want her Castiel to be in pain anymore.

Eli held up the grace, her hand now nearly see-through. "Close your eyes," she said in a throaty voice, then repeated it louder. "Close your eyes!"

Dean and Bobby complied, ducking and throwing their arms over their heads.

Eli smashed the vial on the ground.

The flickering lights inside released like a storm, roaring up and encapsulating her figure with the brightest of radiance. Unlike when the barriers to her power were broken, this didn't hurt; instead, Eli found all of her pain washed away and replaced with an overwhelming sense of rightness and purpose and love. In her mind she could see Chuck smiling benevolently at her, as if to say: _You silly girl. Did you really think I would let it end like that?_

When the light finally faded Eli found herself back in her combat boots, ripped jeans, and bomber jacket. Her eyes were normal. In fact, everything was normal, except for her newfound mental connection to Heaven and the wings she could feel sprouting like invisible shadows from her back.

"Holy shit!" was the first thing Eli heard as she came down from her own personal tornado and collapsed on the freshly green earth. For a moment she had forgotten Dean was even there. "What the hell was that?"

Eli could feel the hunters thumping toward her. Castiel had already crouched by her side, wrapping his arms around her trembling figure and helping her up. The moment she was standing she kissed him, wildly and freely, filled to brimming with the overwhelming joy of being alive.

"Seriously," Dean snapped, a little annoyed at being ignored. "What the hell was that?"

Eli pulled away from Castiel, her hands still around his neck. "I accepted my grace," she said, laughing, unable to stop. "I got my wings. I'm an angel now."

"So…you're not going to implode?" Bobby asked tentatively. Eli untangled herself from Castiel's grip and flung her arms around the older man.

"No," she said ecstatically. "I'm okay, Bobby. Everything is going to be okay."

She then proceeded to tackle Dean and squeeze the breath out of him before turning back to Castiel, suddenly serious.

"You saved me," she said softly. "Thank you."

He traced her cheek with his thumb, staring at her with those intense eyes. "I love you," he said, kissing her again.

In the background was the rustling noise of someone waking up. "What…what's going on?" Sam asked, sitting and holding his head in his hands, astonished to find that he still had a head and hands to hold it. He looked around him in wonder. "What did I miss?"

* * *

"So, what are you guys gonna do now?" Dean asked lazily.

The five of them were sitting on the ground along the side of the parked Impala, drinking beer and watching the sun set over a lake. It was a beautiful sunset, fitting for the end of the day that saw the end of the apocalypse. It sent a stream of fiery gold rippling over the water, the clouds bathed in pink and yellow and orange.

Castiel and Eli shared a look. Castiel shrugged. "Return to Heaven, I suppose."

"Heaven?" Sam asked, drinking his beer. He breathed in, amazed at how clear the air was, at how good it felt to be alive. His ordeal with Lucifer was already fading to the back of his mind, like a bad dream.

"With Michael in the cage, I'm sure it's total anarchy up there," Castiel said, resting his arm around Eli's shoulders. Dean glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.

"So, what, you two are the new sheriffs in town?"

Castiel smirked a little. "Yeah. I like that. Yeah. I suppose we are."

"Fine by me," Eli agreed, sipping her drink and snuggling closer to Castiel's warmth. The sun was a perfect half-circle on the horizon, a flock of birds cutting their way across it as dark, honking specks.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing," Dean said, finishing his beer and cracking open another. "This sure as hell isn't the way I expected this whole thing to work out."

"Hear, hear," Bobby said.

"I don't think it's the way any of us thought it would end," Castiel said thoughtfully. "I guess…good things do happen."

"Can you imagine," Eli said softly. "What could have happened if something had gone differently? Like if I had never met any of you, never joined the fight or been involved with the end of the world?"

Castiel pressed his face to her hair, breathing in deeply. "No," he admitted. "I don't want to."

There were a few moments of silence. Then Eli put her beer down on the ground and stood up, tugging Castiel along with her. "All right, guys," she said, brushing dirt off of her jeans. "It's been real, but I think it's time for us to go."

Bobby stood as well. "Take care of yourself up there," he said gruffly, pulling her in for one last hug. "Visit sometime. Don't forget about us with all of your cloud-hoppin' and harp strummin' or whatever the hell it is you angels do."

"Yeah," Dean commented, leaning against the Impala and smiling cockily. "Don't take any shit from any angel douchebags either."

"Bye Eli, Cas," Sam said softly, raising his beer as if to toast them. "And…thanks. For everything."

Castiel laced his fingers in hers and led her away, toward the water. The sun created fiery halos around their heads, leaving their bodies in shadow.

"So hey," Eli asked, kicking at pebbles as they walked. "I can still drink beer in Heaven, right?"

Castiel laughed a little. "Of course."

She glanced up at him slyly. "And have sex?"

He stopped and pulled her into his arms, feeling her heart beat steadily against his, the mark that bound them glowing warm and happy in her soul. "Definitely," he murmured, pressing his lips to hers. She responded enthusiastically, throwing her arms around his neck and tugging him close, until the sun wrapped around their entwined figures and they were gone.

* * *

**The End**

**To Be Continued In Book Three:**

**As We Know It**

 


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